


The Rise of Sherlock

by naturegirlrocks



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jack hires Sherlock, John gets to believe in more than Sherlock, M/M, Nightmares are scary, No S3 Spoilers, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock is stubborn, possible misuse of Australian accents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturegirlrocks/pseuds/naturegirlrocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up to find a living dead man in his bed and a frost spirit on his sofa, it's the beginning of a new adventure that will test his believes to the limit of sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is a man in my bed, and he isn't dead.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a crazy idea that's not even finished yet, but I wanted to start publish it before S3 airs for obvious reasons. (The story will not follow S3 in any way.)
> 
> Since this is a WIP I'll keep 3-4 days between chapters.

 

”John...”

A soft voice was whispering to him through the gunpowder mists. He recognised the voice but he was too deep in his nightmare to register anything more than a vague familiarity. The voice was not here in the hot desert with him. It wasn't a part of his memories.

John knew they were memories. He knew he was dreaming, That was made it a nightmare, because he knew but could not wake up. Being awake meant safety, but it escaped him. Time and time again it seemed that he would wake. He could feel his eyelids flutter, letting in light. But sleep dragged him back.

There was sand, heat, and blood, and more sand. There were bleeding open wounds in skin that didn't close. He sewed, he stapled, he band-aided, he glued, and he pinched. The wounds kept opening and multiplying. There was the sound of machine-guns in the distance, and that voice. There was that voice.

”John... Wake up...”

I'm trying... he tried to say. I'm trying!

Then the wounds wasn't just wounds. They were Sherlock's wounds, It was Sherlock's blood. Sherlock's blood pooling on the sidewalk, not the desert. John screamed.

"They are not getting any better, are they?" asked the man in a hoarse but familiar dark voice.

It was only the sound of that voice that made John reach for his bedside lamp, and not his loaded gun that he always kept under his pillow at night.

The light didn't bright the room, but it was enough to partly light the face of the man standing over him.

"Sherlock," whispered John.

"John," sighed the not dead man and then collapsed forward.

The pressure over his legs told John that this wasn't a continuation of the nightmare. If it had been he would have been screaming himself awake, again, right about now.

Instead he grabbed hold of the body and pulled it too him in a tight embrace, resting the limp head on his shoulder. He could feel shallow breaths against his neck. Sherlock's hair was wet and smelled of dirt and sweat. John didn't care.

After a moment that couldn't be measured in time John pushed Sherlock gently to the side. The returned man was unconscious, or at least sleeping the deep sleep of someone beyond exhausted.

John felt relief and gratitude give away for anger.

He was angry. Why wouldn't he be? Sherlock had faked his own death and made John believe he was dead for over a year. He and Greg had had their first memorial wake at their favourite pub only two months ago. Of course he was angry.

"Bastard."

Then he sighed. It went against both his nature as a doctor and a soldier to punch a unconscious man. He settled for pinching Sherlock's hand, the only flesh exposed other than the face.

Sherlock didn't respond in any way to the rather hard pinch and the pale skin didn't recede back immediately after John had let go of it. John turned from anger to worry.

Placing Sherlock more comfortably on the bed, he got up and padded over on his bare feet to the light switch. It was only the middle of autumn but the room was cold. John shivered a little as he still slept in an old T-shirt and a pair of loose boxers.

With the room flooding in light John came more to his senses. He looked back to Sherlock, who was wearing a black trench coat, and what seemed like a soft grey jogging set underneath. There was a pair old white trainers on his feet, no socks.

John's mind reeled with thoughts of people he should call. Mycroft, Greg, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, the emergency services. He disregarded them all and moved towards the bed.

He was a doctor, he could do this. So what he hadn't treated anyone since Sherlock died? But then again Sherlock wasn't dead. John giggled nervously, licking his lips.

Carefully John began to take the trench coat off Sherlock's limp body. He could feel the onset of a fever in the skin he touched.

He dropped the coat in the floor. It gave a heavy thud, indicating there was something in the pockets.

John bent down and found a worn leather Filofax in the inner pocket, he put it on the nightstand table. He would look through it later, for now Sherlock was the main concern.

Again there was a chill in the air, John wondered if there was an open window downstairs. Had Sherlock forgotten to close the door?

John continued removing the old shoes from Sherlock's bare feet. Then he removed the grey trousers and the sweater. Sherlock was only wearing a pair of white cotton briefs underneath, they too were old but at least they were clean.

John left them on.

The man on the bed was too pale and too thin. John had always feared that Sherlock had an eating disorder, though it seemed under control when monitored. It was clear nobody had been monitoring.

Finding no open wounds, nor outer indications of inner damage, John tucked Sherlock in under the covers. There had been some scars and bruises, but John had no real will to estimate their age.

He settled his diagnosis for malnutrition, fever, dehydration, and exhaustion. Best cure was probably some good sleep, a lot of water - both internally and externally -, and a couple of good meals.

He wondered if he could get a hold of some nutritional intravenous drip without raising some kind of alarm. Mycroft was probably still keeping tabs on him, even though John had told him several times to back off.

Maybe he could make his own rehydration solution in the kitchen. He had done it a few times back in Afghanistan when their medicinal storages were low...

John shook his head, taking himself out of doctor-mode. For a moment he just allowed himself to watch the sleeping man on the bed. Sherlock was alive.

Again there was a ripple if coldness in the air. John shuddered. It was probably not the best to stand around in his night wear. What good would he be to Sherlock if he too was sick?

Before dressing John debated if he should give Sherlock the extra blanket from the wardrobe. It was cold, and Sherlock had a fever, but too much cover would be bad for the dehydration. He decided to risk placing the blanket over Sherlock's legs, making sure that it wasn't too tight. Sherlock slept on.

John pulled on a pair of thick woolen socks, jeans, and a large wooly jumper. He took up the Filofax and held it to his chest. Then, with a last look back at the bed, he went downstairs to look for the draft.

As he descended the stairs he marveled over how calm he was. Shouldn't he be panicking, calling people, screaming at Sherlock? It struck John that he might be in shock. He might need a blanket himself.

All the doors were closed, so were the windows. John frowned, sure that he had felt a cold draft from somewhere. Maybe the burner was out, or the gas was turned off.

He shook his head, Mrs. Hudson was very mindful with paying her bills on time. Also, she worried over John like a mother hen and wouldn't let him be cold.

Entering the kitchen he looked around for anything that would be useful to feed Sherlock with. He didn't shop that often anymore.

He could make Sherlock tea with lots of sugar. There was some eggs and bacon in the fridge. And he needed salt for the rehydration solution...

John stopped. There was a boy on the sofa. He was sitting calmly with his legs crossed and looking at John. He was holding a long crocked shepherd's staff in his cradled arms.

"Oh," said the boy and smiled widely. "You can see me too, cool. Hello."

"Hello?" said John, looking around and then at the boy again.

He seemed to be in his late teens, had a nice smile, was a bit skinny, and had remarkably white hair.

"I'm Jack," said the boy holding up a hand in a small wave. "Are you the nightmare expert?"

Nightmare? John blinked at a moment's flashback to his dream. How did the boy know he'd had a nightmare? And why was he suddenly an nightmare expert? Well, he certainly had them often enough.

"I'm John," said John, a bit perplexed, and wondering if he was going to be attacked by a gang of young hoodlums hiding out in the bathroom. "Who are you?"

"Didn't Sherlock tell you?"

The boy, Jack, had an American accent. He was dressed in a blue hoodie with intricate white embroidery, brown leather trousers reaching just below his knees, and had bare feet.

"No..." John relaxed a little. "He just fainted on my bed."

"Yeah," Jack laughed out a pleasant sound. "He was a bit of a mess when I found him."

John blinked.

"You found him?" John hurried forward and sat down next to Jack. "Where?"

"In the snow."

John looked out the window, it was still dark outside but there was certainly no snow. It was October, there hadn't been snow in London, or in the entire UK for that matter, since January.

There was snow outside the ice-stadium though, scraped off the rink by that zamboni-machine-thingy, but why would Sherlock lay himself down there?

Jack seemed to notice John's confusion.

"It was in Siberia," he said helpfully.

"Siberia?" John had to put a hand on the back of a chair to stand upright. "Siberia, Siberia? Like the one in Russia?"

"Exactly like the one in Russia," laughed Jack.

"What... What were you doing there?"

"Sightseeing mostly," Jack shrugged. "I find it a really good place to think. Sherlock only told that he had been thrown out of a truck."

"A truck?" breathed John. "What was he doing in a truck?"

"He didn't tell me," Jack shrugged. "But he did tell me he was a consulting detective, and it was all part of the work."

"It's not part of the work to be thrown out of trucks in Siberia when you are supposed o be dead and buried," John had to sit down for a moment to collect himself.

"He was buried?"

"Over a year ago," John rubbed his face. "But I guess now that the coffin was empty, or weighed down. Bastard."

"You're taking his return well."

"I think I might be in shock," John massaged his forehead even harder with his fingertips and gave a small giggle. "And of course I'm going to beat the crap out of him as soon as he's well enough to take it."

Jack made a 'huh'-sound, and pushed a hand through his strangely white hair. Another chill went through John. He noticed that he was still holding on to Sherlock's Filofax, he dropped it on the sofa table. With a sigh he then glanced towards to kitchen.

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

John thought that he might put a dash of whisky in his own tea, it seemed like a good time for it.

"Do you have some ice cubes?"

"Sure... But wouldn't you rather have something warmer?"

"I like cold things."

"All right..."

John got up and walked to the kitchen.

When he got to the sink he turned to look back to look at Jack and was surprised to find that the boy was standing right behind him. He hadn't heard any sound of movement. John took a step back. Jack smiled, he was still holding on to the shepherd staff.

"Where do you live?" asked John, turning the kettle on. "When you are not sightseeing in Siberia?"

"Around," Jack shrugged.

"Ah," John nodded and turned to the icebox.

He thought that Jack might be part of Sherlock's homeless network. Sad for someone that young. He could be a runaway.

Though the thought of a American homeless runaway boy that liked sightseeing in Siberia, and taking strangers he found in snowdrifts to London, was a bit strange. Maybe he was a rich boy with far too much time on his hands, strange dress-sense, and very absent parents.

John handed Jack a glass of ice cubes.

"How old are you?"

"Older than I look," said Jack with a secret smile. "How old are you?"

John blinked. The boy was cheeky.

"Thirty-nine," he said, surprised at himself that he actually answered.

Jack just nodded and looked thoughtful.

"That probably makes you the oldest one I've met that can see me."

"What?"

"Never mind," Jack shrugged.

"Are you sure that you don't want anything to eat? I was going to make Sherlock some eggs and bacon, there's enough for you too."

"No, thanks," Jack took an ice cube and broke it easily between his teeth. "I'll just wait for Sherlock to wake up."

"Oh..." John shifted a little. "Is... Does he owe you money? I can..."

"No," Jack laughed and popped another ice cube in his mouth. "He's promised to help me. I'm your new client, John."

"Client?"

"I want you to find me a missing person."

"Oh."


	2. Sometimes it's the coldest hearts that hides the warmest intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John accepts that he might be going insane, Jack explains the case and there's a surprise guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta Memprime

John poured the boiling water from the kettle into one of Sherlock's larger conical flasks.

He had put the chemistry set away in a kitchen cupboard after his friend's death, too sad to give it away. There were actually many of Sherlock's things hidden away in closets, cupboards and boxes under beds. John had refused to part with a lot of things. Now that he knew that Sherlock was alive it felt a bit silly, but also a bit of relief. 

Jack stood by, watching as John looked through the kitchen for ingredients. The boy was still chewing ice, strangely enough it didn't seem to be melting in his mouth. 

"What are you doing?" Jack sounded genially curious. 

"Something for Sherlock to drink," John squinted as he read the small print on the salt package, making sure that there wasn't any iodine in it. "He needs some nutritional fluids before he eats. This is a recipe we used when I was in the Afghani desert."

"Never been," Jack shrugged, but then looked pensive. "Though maybe on one of the higher mountains, but then again I never keep track on borders, they change too often for me to really care. Anyway, it's too hot for me there."

"You travel much then?" asked John mixing a teaspoon of salt in the water. 

"I never really stop," sighed the boy, suddenly looking sad. "I haven't had a place to call home for a very long time."

"I'm sorry." 

John smiled sympathetically as he added some baking soda and sugar to the mixture. He was beginning to like the boy, and it made him sad that Jack had had such an apparently sad childhood. 

"It's fine," shrugged Jack again, looking at his bare feet. "I have friends now. They are often very busy, but they are kind to me, and they always talk to me whenever they have time. And when I play with the children more of them see me now than before. I have it much better now..."

It sounded to John that Jack was trying to convince himself more than anybody else. 

John put the kettle on again, this time to make tea. He moved to the refrigerator to take out some eggs and bacon. When he turned back Jack was leaning over the conical flask, curiously smelling the liquid inside. 

"Watch it," said John. "It's hot. It needs to cool down before Sherlock can drink it."

"Why did you heat it up then?" Jack touched the flask with a finger. 

"To sterilise the water," John frowned as the liquid suddenly stopped steaming. "Old habit I guess, the water in Afghanistan wasn't always that clean, and sometimes we had to give it intravenously... What did you do?"

John touched the flask carefully, it was cold. Jack smiled.

"I cooled it down for you."

"How did you do that?" John laid a hand on the glass, feeling the cold. "Is it a physics trick?"

"No, I just cooled it down."

"Okay..." 

John turned to the stove, lighting the gas under the frying pan. He was beginning to suspect that Jack wasn't an ordinary boy, even with the strange travelling aside. It was lucky for John that it was in the middle of the night and he was already in shock over Sherlock, otherwise he would have begun to panic right about now. 

A cold wind moved through the kitchen and made John shiver. Again he looked around for the draft, there was none. Jack was sitting cross-legged on the countertop several feet from where he had been only moments ago. 

John blinked, and turned to the food. 

"Who is it that you want Sherlock to find?"

It felt strange to talk about Sherlock being alive, but John found it fit better in his heart to do so. He was still reluctant to contact anyone else just yet. He first had to see Sherlock in the light of day to really understand what was going on. With the strange boy there, it still seemed more like a dream.

"He is a..." Jack hesitated and looked at his hands gripping around the staff. "Well... I can't call him a friend... But I would like him to be, hopefully... When we find him..."

Jack bit his lower lip, glancing at John, then quickly looking away. John knew the signs. Jack really liked the missing guy, but wasn't sure if there were any feelings in return. To be honest, John had had felt that himself for a few months before Sherlock's... Huh, John guessed he had to begin calling it 'absence' now, it felt much better than 'death'.

"I know what you mean," sighed John 

 

He piled up the food on a plate and filled a large cup with hot tea and lots of sugar. 

"Let's go up and look at the patient," he said holding out the cup for Jack. "Can you take this?"

"Better not," said Jack looking at the steam. "I'll carry this one, it's supposed to be cold right?" 

He took the flask of solution and held it up with a smile. John nodded. He didn't know what trick Jack used to cool things down but it didn't seem completely voluntary.

John gestured to his long since used medical bag as they passed through the living room. Jack moved his staff to under his arm, took the bag, and followed John up the stairs. 

"Do you ever put that thing away?" asked John indicating the staff.

"Yes, but never out of sight," answered Jack as he entered John's room. 

Sherlock was still under the blankets, sleeping and slightly snoring. John was reluctant to wake him, but he knew Sherlock would only benefit from some fluids and nutrition. 

"Sherlock?" John said carefully placing the plate and cup on the bedside table. 

He was slight mesmerised by the face of his friend. The sharp cheekbones, the strong chin, the long eyelashes. They were all things he had thought he would never see again. John pushed an errant curl of dark chocolate brown hair away from Sherlock's brow. 

"Wake up, you bastard," he said softly, gently scraping the scalp of the warm head with his fingers.

The hair still seemed soft, even though it was unwashed and moist from sweat. John almost got lost in the feeling before he remembered that Jack was watching him. He cleared his throat and moved his hand down to Sherlock's shoulder to shake him softly.

Sherlock grunted. His eyes fluttered open. The next moment he was sitting bolt upright. John pulled away in surprise, backing into Jack who had been standing behind him. The boy had really cold skin, almost like a dead person. 

"Where are my clothes?" asked Sherlock, looking down on his bare chest and the blankets that weren't covering it anymore. 

"On the floor," said John stepping forward. "I brought you some food."

"John..." Sherlock looked at him in wonder. "So it wasn't a dream."

"Why would you think it was a dream?" John sat down on the bedside, close to Sherlock but not too close. 

"Because you haven't hit me yet," Sherlock looked away, looking almost ashamed. 

"Oh I'm going to hit you," John shook his head with a smile. "I'm just making sure you can stand the punches first. And anyway, we seem to have a guest. I wouldn't want I be reported for domestic abuse."

Sherlock looked at Jack. His face broke out in a large smile, showing all his teeth. 

"You're real!" he grinned.

"Yup, told you so," shrugged Jack and leaned against his staff.

Sherlock looked around the room, looking far more amazed than necessary over the small bedroom. His breathing increased and his pupils dilated, all signs of panic and excitement. John felt suddenly nervous. He grabbed hold of Sherlock, afraid that the man was going to throw himself out of the bed.

"This is your room," breathed Sherlock, getting more and more agitated. "Your room at Baker Street. This... This is London!"

"Yes," John held both Sherlock's hands between his. "You are home, Sherlock. Home!"

John felt tears stinging his eyes. Sherlock was home. This was real. 

"But I was in Russia..."

"I brought you here," said Jack, stepping forward. "You told me where you lived, remember?"

"But how...?" Sherlock fell back on the bed, his face was dangerously pale.

"Sherlock," John let go of one of Sherlock's hands, reaching for the teacup on the nightstand. "Drink this. Calm down. You are not feeling well."

John helped Sherlock by holding the warm cup to his lips. The detective carefully sipped the hot drink carefully, grinning bad against the heat and sweetness. Sherlock's eyes darted between John and Jack. 

Jack placed the solution flask on the bedside table and the medical bag by John's feet. He smiled awkwardly.

"Perhaps I should come back later..." 

"No!" Sherlock swallowed with a grimace, reaching out his free hand for Jack. "Stay! Please! Tell me what you are! I don't understand. What are you?"

"Sherlock!" John gave Jack an apologetic look.

He too had questions about Jack, but he wouldn't go so far as calling the boy a 'what'. 

"I'm Jack Frost," shrugged Jack. "I'm just a simple frost spirit."

"There is no such thing!" coughed Sherlock.

"And yet here I am," laughed Jack, swung his staff, and made light snow fall from the ceiling creating light powder over the bed.

"Oh-kay..." John took a large sip of the tea himself. "Sherlock, eat your food."

John knew he was ignoring several things at the moment, but he felt that he kept his focus on the most important thing which was the health of Sherlock. It felt good to focus on something. He bent down to take his medical bag and then just stared at its contents not being able to distinguish the stethoscope from the boxes of medication. He wondered if it just would be simpler to go back to sleep.

"Please stop that," he said sternly. "Sherlock has a fever, he doesn't need wet sheets."

"Sorry," Jack stopped the snow immediately. "Shit, didn't think of that."

"Jack Frost?" said Sherlock narrowing his eyes and ignoring his food. "Like in King Bore, Old man Winter, and 'nipping at your nose'?"

"Well..." Jack blushed and scratched the back of his neck. "There are a few names going around, but there's actually no personification of winter. It's just plain old winter, and I'm just a frost spirit. And I have never nipped anyone's nose what I know of."

John had found a small flashlight in his bag and was toying with it. He wondered if he was still asleep. The snow falling inside his bedroom should indicate that. The problem was that he didn't want to be asleep. He wanted Sherlock to be back, and if that involved a white-haired boy making it snow inside the house he was not going to argue with it.

"Though North has said that some people has mistaken him for King Bore..." Jack shrugged halfheartedly. "I think it's the beard."

Sherlock didn't look at all well, actually he looked very pale and quite sick to his stomach. John reached for the conical flask and held it out to him. 

"Drink this and I'll give you something to sleep on," he said.

"Why aren't you freaking out?" hissed Sherlock narrowing his eyes at John. 

"Why are you?" 

"I was in Siberia less than two hours ago about to be beaten up by a couple of idiotic mafia-wannabes, and now a frost spirit has somehow brought me to London! And apparently he knows Santa Claus!"

"You do?" John looked up at Jack. 

"Yeah, North," Jack nodded with a smile. "Great guy. Mad as a hatter. And by the way, we flew here on the Eastern Wind, you were just too unconscious to remember."

Sherlock took the flask from John, drank a large gulp, and frowned over the bad taste. Amazingly enough, it seemed that Sherlock was more happy to drink out of chemical equipment than out of china. John smiled, he had really missed his friend.

"John, I think I need whatever kind of pill you have to sleep on now. Make it a double. And if you don't have any there's a stash of opium under the false bottom of my wardrobe." 

"Found it and flushed it a year ago," John leaned over and took out a small jar of sleeping pills, his own prescription, from the drawer of the bedside table. "As I did the cocaine in the false leg of the small table, and under the loose tile in the bathroom."

"How did you know?" Sherlock swallowed the pills with another swig of the flask. 

"The police brought a dog to search the flat after you..." John took a breath. "They agreed to keep it quiet if I flushed everything. I guess they felt guilty for ever doubting your sincerity."

"Oh, I can believe that," Sherlock drank the last of the solution and looked at Jack again. "I don't know if I believe in you though." 

"I get that a lot," Jack seemed a bit sad over this. "But if you didn't believe in me, you wouldn't be able to see me. That's kind of the rule of thumb, I learned." 

"Stupid rule," said Sherlock sleepily.

"Rest now," John tucked the blankets around the lanky body of his resurrected friend. "We'll freak out together in the morning."

John stroked Sherlock gently over the head. He got up from the bed and reached for the undisturbed plate of eggs and bacon. 

"Give me that," said Sherlock holding out his hands.

"Are you sure?" John smiled hopefully. 

"I better make sure this isn't a hallucination brought on by lack of food, I've had those before."

"Good plan," said John giving him the plate. "Jack and I will be right downstairs if you need us."

Sherlock just grunted as he stared suspiciously at the bacon. John and Jack left the room, closing the door behind them. Jack made a face. 

"Are you really going to hit him when he gets better?"

"Yes I am," said John going down the stairs. "He tricked me, broke my heart, and then he killed himself in front of me. He deserves to be knocked around a bit. I deserve to knock him around a bit."

"He talked about you when he told me where he lived," said Jack as they entered the sitting room. 

"What did he say?" sighed John going over the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. "Other than me being a nightmare expert, which I still don't understand."

"Oh, that's because the man I want you to find really likes nightmares. It's probably good to have expert around."

"Can't see anyone really liking nightmares," John shivered and walked to the kitchen. "Are you still sure you don't want anything? A drink? Are you old enough to drink?"

"Alcohol makes me dizzy."

"Kind of the point," smirked John. 

He took the whiskey bottle from the cupboard and placing it next to the kettle. The water was still warm so it didn't take long to boil up again. John put a tea bag and a healthy drip of whiskey in his teacup. 

"Sherlock said you were the best man he knew," Jack sat down by the kitchen table. "He said he'd trust you with his own life."

John stopped the movement of dipping the teabag up and down. He ground his teeth together in anger, but then reluctantly relaxed. It still wasn't the right moment to plant his fist on Sherlock's face. John took a deep breath. 

"If he trusts me with his life, then why did he pretend to die? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Perhaps he doesn't trust himself with your life," Jack leaned back on the chair, balancing it on its two hind legs. 

"I don't even understand what that means," laughed John. 

He took a sip of tea, feeling the lovely effects on his body caused by alcohol and tannin.

"You must have been terribly lonely without him," Jack rolled his staff between his hands. "I've been alone for most of my life, but I never knew how alone I was until I met my friends."

John nodded thoughtfully. He understood that Jack, whoever or whatever he was, had had a tragic past. His thoughts lingered on the man in his bed again, and he felt a wonderful sense of completion. It was as if he was whole again. He looked to Jack, who was still balancing on the chair with the help of the staff. 

"You didn't answer my question on why I had to be a nightmare expert."

Jack gave him a quick glance.

"Because the man I want you to find is the Boogyman."

John had to drink his entire cup, and go back for seconds, before he had recovered from that statement. Jack watched him carefully the whole time. 

"So the Boogyman is missing?" John found that his voice was quite calm and level.

"Well..." Jack got up from the chair and walked around the room while scratching his hair. "Actually, we call him the Nightmare King, his name is Pitch Black though."

"Good name."

"Me and my friends banished him, because he was bad to the children, making them lose their beliefs and hopes and so on. He's a bit of a dick to be fair, though not entirely for bad reasons."

"Sounds like someone I know," murmured John.

"But I kind of liked him, strangely enough, and I think that he liked me, so I went looking for him, after the appropriate amount of time of course. He needed to think over what he had done first."

"Of course." 

"But now I have been looking for him for several months. He's gone. And..." Jack sighed and turned to John. "Honestly speaking. We can't control the nightmares for much longer. We thought we did right by banishing Pitch, but apparently without him controlling them, the nightmares and the shadows will just run amok." 

"When you say 'we'," John was thankfully feeling a bit tipsy. "Who are you referring to?"

"Me, North, the Easter-bunny, the Tooth-fairy, and the Sandman. We are the Guardians of Childhood. Though I've only recently been taken on as a guardian, total newbie me. It is great fun. More children see me now than before, and some adults as well." 

John took a few deep breaths at the mentions of the other names. A part of him had accepted Jack Frost, Santa Claus, and even the Boogyman, but the rest of them was hard to swallow. He really wondered if he was still asleep. This was going to look so silly later in the light of day. But still, if it was a dream then Sherlock wouldn't be there in the morning. It was unbearable to think of, John had just gotten him back.

"Show me that snow trick again," he said. "I need to know I'm awake."

"I can do you one better," said Jack getting up and going over to the window. "How about a blizzard?"

"It's October," John shook his head. "We're in the middle of London. There could be accidents."

"Good thinking."

Jack opened the window, letting a light breeze inside. It ruffled the frost spirit's hair. Jack laughed happily and pointed his staff at the dark sky. Soon light powdery flakes began gently falling from the sky. A thin layer of white soon misted the outside night.

"Beautiful," John came up to stand next to Jack. "You really are Jack Frost, aren't you?"

"Sure am."

John stood still for a while, enjoying the light snow, and his drink. It was slowly turning light outside. It would soon be morning. He shivered and Jack closed the window with an apologetic look.

"I never feel the cold," he said. "I sometimes forget that others do."

"I wonder if I should call somebody," John sat down again. "About Sherlock, I mean. He has a brother, and at least three other friends than me. They deserve to know he's alive as well. Though I'm sure some of them already knew."

"He has a brother? What's he like?"

"A bastard, more or less," John emptied his cup. "But I think he's a decent guy underneath it all. He really cares for Sherlock, though. He's a good brother. But still a bastard. I kind of like him, in an odd way."

Jack nodded. He was balancing on one leg on the back of a chair. John realised that the boy had just jumped up there as if it was nothing. He tried to look away but it was fascinating, which was why he first didn't notice the man in the doorway. 

"I didn't knew you cared," said the man.

"Mycroft!" John gasped turning to look at the tall man in a smart three-piece suit. 

"Talking to yourself, John?" Mycroft looked around the room. "First sign of madness."

"I..."

John looked over at Jack who was standing on one leg on the back of Sherlock's leather chair, balancing the staff over his head. He grinned and shrugged. Mycroft couldn't see Jack. Was that a sign of madness as well? John gasped,

He quickly got to his feet, dropping the cup on the floor. He pushed passed Mycroft without ceremony and hurried up the stairs to his bedroom. As he opened the door he couldn't breathe. 

Sherlock was there, sleeping. John leaned against the doorframe. 

"Told you non-believers can't see me," said Jack from directly behind him.

"Fuck," John felt stressed to bits.

"What on Earth is going on?" Mycroft was coming up the stairs. "John?"

"He's still there," John breathed. "You see him as well? Don't you?"

Mycroft gave him a worried look before looking inside the room. He gasped, that was all the confirmation John needed. Jack's selective invisibleness be damned, Sherlock was there. 

A small relived giggle forced his way up John's throat when he saw that Sherlock actually had eaten all the food. The sweet tea was also all consumed. 

"It's impossible," whispered Mycroft. "I was tracking him outside Yakutsk, just a few hours ago."

"So you knew," John walked passed him into the room, placing himself between the bed and Mycroft. "You knew he was alive and didn't tell me."

"No I didn't," Mycroft looked at John and then to the sleeping lump on the bed. "Not really. I suspected it though. All the signs told me he was, but there was never enough proof to confirm it was him... All I had were tracks and innuendoes..."

"Let him see him," Jack touched John's shoulder. "He's his brother."

John looked at Jack, and for the second time that evening John refrained to give a Holmes a uppercut to the jaw. Instead he nodded and moved to the side. Mycroft gave him a glance and the stepped quietly up to the bed. He reached out and carefully touched Sherlock's hair. John felt a lump in his throat at the tender gesture. Mycroft pulled his hand back and fisted it over his own heart. 

"He feels warm."

"He has a fever."

"It's cold in here."

John adjusted the covers over Sherlock. Jack looked closer at Mycroft. 

"This guy never believed in anything," he said. "I can feel it. Not even once in Santa as a child. He wouldn't believe even if Rudolph poked him with his shiny red nose in the groin."

"It doesn't surprise me," murmured John with half a smile at the analogy. 

"What?" asked Mycroft.

"Nothing," sighed John. "Let's go downstairs."

They left the room quietly to not wake Sherlock. Jack was down before them and was sitting in the sofa when John and Mycroft entered the living room.

"Does he need to go to the hospital?" Mycroft looked uncharacteristically uncertain.

"I can handle it," John shook his head.

Mycroft didn't look convinced, but held his tongue. John shifted. Now that he had his confirmation that Sherlock was back he didn't really want to have the other man around. 

John decided that it was time for a real cup of tea, sans whiskey. He went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Mycroft followed. 

"Anyway, we got a case," said John.

"A case?" Mycroft blinked. "Where?"

"Where?" John glanced to Jack over Mycroft's shoulder.

"The North Pole!" called Jack stretching out on the sofa like a content cat.

"The North Pole," repeated John feeling like he was passing out, he had to steady himself on the counter.

"The North Pole?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," John breathed. "You don't happen to have some snowshoes I could borrow?"

\--------


	3. Even naughty boys have their nice moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John arrives at the North Pole and Santa's workshop.

Mycroft had left not long after that. By the looks the man had given him John suspected that there would be several men carrying straitjackets arriving in the morning. That was just what he needed. 

"I'm going mad, aren't I?" John asked Jack. 

"How should I know?" shrugged Jack looking out the window at the last falling flakes of snow. "I haven't met you before, not even when you were a child. I have no basis for comparison. But I can tell that that guy thinks you are. He left someone outside to guard the door."

"Great," John sighed and swallowed down some too warm tea. "If I get taken away for psychological evaluation, then I won't be able to care for Sherlock. And haven't even had a chance to hit him yet." 

"You really want to hit him, don't you?"

"You bet your arse I do," he shook his head with a laugh. "And then I'm going to hug the living daylights out the bastard. God, I missed him so much."

Jack grinned a pearly white smile. 

"We better set off for the Pole right away then. Before the men in white come to take you away."

"Set off?"

"Yes!" Jack opened the window and jumped up on the sill. "Go make Sherlock ready and get your winter coats. I'll be right back with transportation."

"Transportation?" 

John stared at Jack from the edge of kitchen. Was the boy going to jump out the window? That brought up some rather unpleasant memories. Again he had to persuade himself that it wasn't the nightmare returning. 

"I can't carry the both of you," Jack rolled his eyes. "I nearly had to call a storm just to manage Sherlock." 

Then he stepped out of the window. John screamed and dropped his cup on the floor. He rushed forward but stopped in shock when he saw Jack floating in the middle of the air outside the window. He looked like a frozen Peter Pan, or a ghost. 

"I'll be right back!" called Jack as he suddenly caught the wind like an autumn leaf and was taken away. 

John had to catch his breath three times before settling down to a somewhat normal breathing pace. 

"Oh-kay..." he said. 

For a few moments he didn't move. Then he was interrupted by a hesitant knock on the door. A muscular man in a black suit, and light specks of snow on his shoulders, stood in the doorway. 

"Excuse me, Doctor Watson," he said, looking around the room. "I heard a scream."

"The, the cup..." John blinked, pointing down at the shards by his feet. "I dropped it." 

"Oh," the man frowned. "Let me help you with that."

"Thanks...?"

He stepped aside from the mess. The man gave a condescending smile and walked over to the broom closet as if he had used it several times before, which he probably had. John looked at the open window and then to the stairs leading up to his room. 

"That too," he said pointing to the cup he dropped earlier by the sofa. 

"Sure," smiled the man. 

"I'm going..." John shifted, backed away slowly, and pointed vaguely to the direction of the stairs. "Going to... Well... Sherlock..." 

He bumped awkwardly into the lowest step, nearly falling over. Then he turned before the man could answer and ran up the stairs. 

His heart was pounding as he entered his room and headed for the wardrobe. 

He pulled on his winter shoes. This was going to be the ultimate test to his sanity. There were three ways this would play out. One: Jack was coming back, and they all would go to the North Pole. Two: Jack wasn't coming back and John and Sherlock would be picked up by men in white while wearing thick duffel jackets. Three: Everything in his imagination and John would wake up alone in an insane asylum. 

John took out his thickest duffel and placed it by the bed. He then took out the old inconspicuous suitcase with all his favourite pieces of Sherlock's clothing, at least the ones that he had hidden away before Mycroft had emptied out Sherlock's room a year ago. 

He hesitated for a brief moment before reaching up to take down a large unopened mail order package on the top shelf. It had been nine months and he still felt a tinge of shame and sorrow. It was a long blue Belstaff coat with red buttonholes and several deep pockets. He had found it on the internet, bought it for half the value of his army pension, and then hidden it away. Now he unpacked it. 

"Sherlock?" he said, gently touching the sleeping man on the bed. "I need to get you dressed. We're leaving."

"Don'wanna..." murmured a sleepy baritone. "Home... John...."

"I'm here," John soothed. "We're just going to get dressed now, okay? The case, remember? The missing Boogyman?"

"Absurd title for a blog entry," murmured Sherlock without moving. 

"I know," John chuckled and carefully untangled the other man from the covers. "But absurd titles tend to get more readers."

"They're all idiots."

Sherlock didn't do anything to help John move him around, but he didn't oppose to being manhandled either. He seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness during the whole ordeal. 

Because it was an ordeal, especially for John. 

The first awkward point came when John had got the trousers on Sherlock and was going to button the fly. Of course Sherlock wouldn't buy trousers with zippers. John took a breath and held it as he did the four small buttons, trying to ignore that his fingers touched Sherlock's pants. He let out his breath as he finished the larger top button. 

He calmed his nerves as he covered Sherlock's feet with two pairs of socks. The Gucci shoes wouldn't hold for too cold weather, but they were the only ones he managed to save, and they were good leather and designed for winter. 

Next challenge was the shirt, the purple one. John had to sit across Sherlock's lap, leaning the man's head against his shoulder to get the long arms inside the sleeves. He could feel Sherlock breathing him in. John couldn't help but to take a breath as well. 

"Oh!"

John turned to look at the doorway and froze as he saw Mycroft's agent standing there. 

"Sorry," said the man, blushing. "I'll just..." 

The door closed quickly and John could hear quick steps descending the stairs. John ought to have felt embarrassed, but he didn't. He only hoped the man hadn't noticed the suitcase and the outerwear.

"Was goin' on?" asked Sherlock's lips against the skin of John's neck.

"Nothing, lo..." John stopped. "Just getting dressed."

Had he actually almost called Sherlock 'love'? It was nothing, thought John as he firmly buttoned down the shirt. It's just something you say when you speak to god friends. John's sister Harry called all her friends 'love'.

John climbed off Sherlock and the bed. He took one if his warmest woolen jumpers and threaded it over Sherlock's head. Sherlock looked confused. 

There was a tap on glass of the window, and John saw Jack floating outside. 

"Thank god!" 

John hurried to open the window and let Jack inside. The boy landed easily on the floor with the help of a cool breeze.

"Ready?" he asked. 

He was holding a round glass snow globe in his hand. 

"Just about," said John. 

He got the coat for Sherlock and the duffel for himself. He also brought two blue scarves from the suitcase. There weren't any gloves or mittens, they just had to put their hands in their pockets when... when they arrived at the North Pole. John giggled nervously. 

"What?" asked Jack with a smile. 

"The North Pole," John continued giggling as he half-lifted Sherlock from the bed. 

"Santa's workshop," said Jack. 

"What?!" 

Jack had thrown the snow globe at the wall, but instead shattering into a million pieces of glass a large glittering portal opened up. It was like something out of an science fiction movie. John gasped as he realised a gateway to another world had opened up in the middle of his bedroom wall. 

He could feel the cold wind rushing towards him. But he could also see colourful lights. There were wonderful smells of cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and something that in his heart reminded him of the Christmases he had experienced as a young child before his father's alcohol consumption had ruined the holiday. 

"Mummy?" asked Sherlock in a dreamy voice, hugging closer to John's arms. "Is that you?"

It warmed John's heart that Sherlock too associated the smells with happy childhood memories. He tightened his hold on the detective, took a resolute breath, and stepped inside the shining portal. 

The cold winds got stronger and colder. The floor under their feet turned to snow and ice. The dusky early morning turned to a bright mid-day. John felt like he was walking into a dream. 

A large wooden building rose before them. It had snow covered rooftops, corners painted like red and white candy cane, smoking chimneys, and welcoming lights. The smells from before saturated the air. There were noises sounding like hammering, jingle bells, sawing, and deep rumbling. 

John was just about to ask about the rumbling when the source itself was coming straight for them. It was like a mountain of thick long fur. 

The beast was more than three meters tall and two meters over the shoulders. The white shaggy fur covered it's body, though the face fur was distinctly marked out in long moustaches and eyebrows. Its eyes were amber and intelligent. It had a large green bow on its head. John blinked. 

Sherlock gave a noise that almost was a laugh. 

"Susan!" said Jack with an elegant bow. "Ravaging as ever."

The beast made a rumbling noise that didn't sound anything like words but couldn't be interpreted to anything else than a rude 'eat me'. It, she, continued past them without looking back. 

"The Yetis love me," said Jack with a grin.

"I can see that," said John, hugging Sherlock a bit closer as the man began to slump a little. "Does all the females wear bows?"

"No," laughed Jack. "That would be terribly stereotypical wouldn't it. Susan has just made a life choice, she used to be Dave. I think she uses a bow because she feels the need to be pretty."

"Oh," John felt even more confused than before. "A gender queer yeti. How about that, Sherlock?"

"I need something to drink."

"You and me both, love."

John bit his tongue. He hoped that Sherlock wasn't lucid enough to have noticed. Though with his luck fever, fatigue and sedatives wouldn't be enough to dull his friend's genius mind. He glanced to Sherlock, but the man appeared to be sleeping on his legs. 

"Come on!" called Jack as if John wasn't going through an existential crisis. "Let's go inside. I'll introduce you to North."

John pulled Sherlock along inside the building. There the scents were stronger and mixed with fire, newly baked cookies, glue, and flowery perfume. Again John experienced a onslaught of memories of opening that first gift on Christmas morning and finding a shiny set of twelve tin soldiers with red uniforms. But there was also the following memory of how his drunken father had stepped on one of the soldiers and then taking them and throwing them into the fire, melting them all to a dirty lump of metal. 

"What did you do then?" Sherlock asked and John was made aware that he had actually spoken out loud. 

"Harry and I saved the tin-lump," John smiled sadly. "Mom gave me money to buy an cheap old casting set. We managed to make seven soldiers. But they weren't as nice, and we could never find the right paint for their coats."

"It is sad Christmas memory," said a booming voice from behind them.

John froze, he could feel Sherlock doing the same. They stood still as a large man with long white beard, red suspender-trousers, and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves came into view. He smelled of ginger and stables. 

"North!" called Jack floating down from a perch above them. "Look! I found someone to help me look for Pitch. He's a detective. Sherlock Holmes. And this is friend John Watson."

"Jack, Jack," North shook his head as you do to a much loved child that is getting overexcited. "I know you want to find Pitch, but maybe he be missing for a reason?"

"Well then he's missing for the wrong reason," pouted Jack. "And I'm going to find him and tell him so."

North just laughed a jolly deep laugh, and then turned back to John. The great man frowned as he looked closer at Sherlock

"Your friend is not well," he said, reaching out and stroking a wet lock of hair from Sherlock's forehead. "We find him a bed, yes?"

"Th-thank you..." John tried to find his voice "... Mr- err... Mr Claus. He has a fever and is terribly tired." 

"You call me North, John," smiled North. "We will find Sherlock best bed. This way. Don't step on elf, they are always under foot."

John looked down and noticed that he was about to step on what seemed like a hood with feet picking its nose. 

"That's an elf?" 

"I know," Jack walked to his other side to help support Sherlock. "I was surprised too. But it's the yetis that makes the toys. The elves are just...well elves."

As to demonstrate his point three of the little hooded creatures ran across the floor chasing a tomato with candy canes. One of them fell, splashing down on the tomato. The other ones began to laugh high pitch giggles. The one picking his nose just continued as if nothing had happened. 

John shook his head and followed North. He was almost sure now that he had lost his mind, but he found that he had stopped caring as long as he knew Sherlock was alive and well. So what if he was presently in Santa's workshop and was going to look for the missing Boogyman so that Jack Frost could ask said Boogyman to go out with him? John shook his head. 

He wondered for a moment that if he was inside his depressed deluded mind, where his body was. John wondered and found he didn't care. He took a better hold of Sherlock who gripped him closer. 

North led them up a few stairs and through a corridor. There were more elves running around here. A large yeti walked passed them, greeted North with a nod and a grunt. His fur brushed against John, it was soft and warm. 

"You can rest here," North opened a door to the side of the corridor. "Bathroom is next door."

The bedroom was medium sized with beautiful woodwork. A small lit fireplace gave pleasant a warmth to the room. There was a large wooden bed, with blue and white sheets, that took up about a quarter of the room. There was also a little bookshelf, a small table, and two chairs by the window, perfect for late night drinks and talks. 

"It's very nice," said John. 

John and Jack helped Sherlock off with his coat and shoes. North pulled up the covers and they all helped to settle the detective down in the bed. 

"I can take it from here," said John, feeling that Sherlock wouldn't want to be stripped down in front of Santa Claus.

"I send yeti with food," said North, patting John on the back. "Come Jack, we need talk."

"Man," sighed Jack and rolled his eyes. 

North just chuckled and led the boy out if the room. 

Finally alone John sat down on the bed next to Sherlock's feet. He rubbed his face, but everything remained the same. Sherlock was breathing lightly, watching him thoughtfully. It was the worst kind if watching because John knew he was being deduced. 

"Can you believe this?" he chuckled to release the tension. "I have a hard time not thinking that I've lost my mind."

"I believe it," said Sherlock slowly. "But that is probably only because I'm not working as full capacity at the moment." 

John smiled. That was just such a typical Sherlock thing to say. 

"I've missed you," he said. 

"I've missed you more," said Sherlock.

"Not possible."

"Let's agree to disagree."

"Let's," John stood up. "Are you warm?"

"Very," Sherlock yawned. "But I like this jumper."

"You always said it was my ugliest one." 

"Doesn't mean I don't like it."

"Now I know you got a fever. You are delusional. Come on, you need a proper rest before you can take on the Boogyman." 

John helped Sherlock off with the jumper and the shirt, He looked over some of the bruises again, as well as the pale skin and the signs of emaciation. Sherlock calmly fell asleep while letting John look his fill. 

After a moment's thought, John decided that Sherlock would get a better rest without the trousers. Again he hesitated over the button fly, but took a breath of courage and started undoing buttons. 

Which was the moment a yeti looked inside the door, carrying a tray of tea and sandwiches. The yeti took one look at John's hands over Sherlock's crotch, then put the tray on the floor and left very quickly. 

John had stopped moving. He didn't know what he should do. Then he realised that sitting still with his hands on Sherlock's pants wasn't the best thing to do. He finished undressing Sherlock and then tucked him in under the covers. 

Sherlock began to lightly snore. It was quite peaceful to listen to. John took off his shoes and lay down beside him on top of the covers. Within moments he had fallen asleep, not noticing that Sherlock snuggled closer to him.


	4. Don't be afraid of the things hiding the dark, it's your heart that will kill you in the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets a bunny. Sherlock gets an admirerer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta memprime.

Sherlock was strapped to a hospital bed with thick leather straps. His face was white, his beautiful hair was shaved clean off. He was only wearing a short blue cotton gown, his long pale limbs sticking out like the legs of a spider. 

John watched as his friend's manic eyes grew more pleading. 'Tell them', those eyes said. 'Tell them, John. Tell the you saw the same thing. Tell them I'm not mad. Don't let them hurt me!'.

A man dressed in a long white coat came up beside Sherlock's head. He was holding two electrodes. Carefully the man placed them against Sherlock's temples. Tears, Sherlock was crying, so was John. 

"It's going to be all right, love," said John. "That brain of yours always gets us into trouble. It will be better this way."

"There is no such thing as Santa," said Mycroft and turned on the switch. 

John woke up with a scream. 

He was sitting in a large bed with blue and white sheets in a medium-sized bedroom with beautiful woodcarvings on the walls. The sun wasn't up, but there was a nice fire giving warmth to the room. There were scents of ginger and cinnamon around him. Faint sounds from behind the door told of a busy workshop. Sherlock wasn't there.

Neither were his clothes, so John figured that the man just had gone exploring by himself. Irresponsible concerning his state, of course. But that was Sherlock and John realised that he had missed it. So very much. 

John hurried off the bed and scrambled for his shoes. The memories of his nightmare haunted him, especially Sherlock's pleading eyes. 

The thought was rather silly actually. Why would Sherlock be the one to get electric shock treatment if it was John that was going insane. Dreams were like that he supposed. 

Outside the room John followed the sounds to the workshop. It was enormous. At least fifty huge yetis had had each a workspace overflowing with toys, clothes and... things. Small elves, all looking like topped hoods with feet, were running around playing and doing their best to look like they were working but actually only being in the way. 

John relaxed as he caught sight of Sherlock. The tall man was dwarfed next to the yeti he was currently examining. He was still pale but the fever had clearly gone down. John walked over to him. 

"John," smiled Sherlock in a way of greeting. "Feel this."

He indicated his hands that was deeply buried in the long shaggy fur of the yeti's back. The yeti was currently putting black strands of plastic hair on a brown doll and didn't seem to care about anything else.

"I'm good," said John. 

"No, feel," Sherlock grabbed hold of John's hand and dragged it into the fur. "Bruce doesn't mind, do you Bruce?"

"Krrrmmm..." said the yeti in a tone that said 'Just leave me alone when you are done being annoying'.

The fur was pleasantly warm, just like the yeti that John bumped into earlier. It felt like patting a large sheepdog. Under the long strands there was a thicker, fattier, layer of fur, and under that was clear white skin. 

"Do you feel that? asked Sherlock, looking like an excited child. "It's amazing! The hair is a part of him."

"Everyone's hair is a part of them," said John, withdrawing his fingers from Bruce's fur. 

"No," Sherlock excitedly placed his hands on top of John's head and dug in. "Your hair dies the moment it leaves the follicle. The yetis' doesn't, it keeps living, until it sheds. Amazing biology."

"Can you let go of my head now?"

"Are you going to hit me?"

"Not in Santa's workshop I won't," grinned John. "I might get in the naughty-list."

"Oh, I'll get you a Christmas present if you are naughty, John," said Sherlock in a deep voice, digging his fingers harder into John's scalp.

"Are you all right?" frowned John.

Sherlock blinked.

"Never mind," he sighed and let his hands drop limply to his sides. "Let's go find Jack and see about the case."

He turned abruptly and left, zig-zagging between work tables and elves like he done so all his life. John watched him leave very feeling confused, and, strangely enough, a bit aroused. 

"Huhrrrr...." said Bruce as if to say 'You missed your chance there, stupid'. 

John glanced at the yeti, and then followed Sherlock. 

Had that been a chance? A chance for what? 

He caught up with Sherlock in a adjacent room. Jack was there, making large snowflakes in ice and hanging them in a large spruce tree. The white-haired boy grinned happily and half-floated, half-ran towards them. 

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Very," said Sherlock adjusting his clothes. 

Sherlock was wearing John's jumper. Probably for warmth since John hadn't brought a jacket for him. John sighed and looked at the wonderful decorations that Jack created and how they glistened in light that seemed to come from within them.

"Tell me about the case," said Sherlock taking a seat on a nearby table a bit further away from John.

"Well..." Jack shifted a little from foot to foot. "As I said, his name is Pitch. He's known as the Boogyman or the Nightmare King."

"Does he make nightmares?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "But he can control them, just like me and ice. He can make Night-Mares though. They are really cool. Well, scary, but cool. Like really big horses made of dark dreamsand. Oh, he doesn't make dreamsand, he just makes it dark."

"Who makes the dreamsand?"

"The Sandman of course!"

Sherlock blinked. 

"Of course," he said, clearing his throat. "Silly of me. Go on."

"Pitch had this plan you see, to take over the world and put in permanent darkness without hope, or joy, or fun. Starting with the children. We, the Guardians, managed to defeat him just in time. He was dragged away to the underworld by his own rebelling shadows and not seen again. I looked everywhere I can think of."

John coughed.

"This is guy that you want us to find? The guy you like?"

"He had his reasons," said Jack firmly. "If it wasn't for hurting the children, and all that boring dark stuff, I would have helped him. Though I don't think he would know what to do with the world if he had it." 

"Tell me his reasons," Sherlock leaned forward. "Make me understand."

"He was so alone," Jack breathed. "He was so lonely it drove him mad."

John felt his chest tighten, it was hard to breathe. He had experienced loneliness. Before he met Sherlock he had no one but an alcoholic older sister (who only remembered him half the time) and a therapist. 

Sherlock had taken all that away. For a short time John had a friend, a companion, and a partner. Then Sherlock had died and the loneliness had returned, sevenfold. 

Sure, he could have a pint with Mike or Greg on the weekend, but it never mean what he would have with Sherlock. And now the man was back. John realised that he wouldn't bare to be alone again. 

This Pitch person had wanted to take over the world and bury it in darkness because he was lonely? John could sympathise. 

"Go on," nodded Sherlock.

"He made me an offer to join him, I refused."

"Because of the children and the boring dark stuff."

"Yes," nodded Jack eagerly. "You understand!"

"Do you want to take him up on the offer now?"

"No. I want to make him another one."

"Which is?"

"I'll ask him to join me!"

John laughed. 

"You mean the other way around? What's the difference?"

"Other than I'm not out to destroy the world?" smirked Jack.

"Point taken," smiled John back.

He could see that Sherlock was gearing up for another question, but they were interrupted by a large hole suddenly opening up in the floor and a giant rabbit jumping out of it.

John yelped and Sherlock nearly fell off the table. The hole closed as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a bright yellow dandelion growing in the middle of the floor. The giant rabbit twitched his long ears and looked around the room as if searching for danger. His eyes closed in on Sherlock.

"Bunny!" called Jack with a welcoming laugh. "What are you doing here?"

"Who're the limeys?" asked the rabbit in a thick Australian accent. 

"This is Sherlock and that's John," pointed Jack. "They are helping me find Pitch."

"Bloody waste of time if you'd ask me," he narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. "Don't I know you from somewhere, mate?"

"This is the Easter-bunny," introduced Jack.

"Hi," squeaked John, feeling slightly in awe over the human sized bunny. 

He had seen giant bunnies online and on telly many times, but they looked more like giant furry balls. Thus creature was almost a man, except for being a bunny. 

Sherlock reached out a hand and placed it on Bunny's chest. Bunny looked down on the hand, raising an eyebrow. Sherlock pushed his hand forward, rocking Bunny slightly, his fingers smoothing the chest that seemed quite muscular under the fur.

"Usually I would like to be bought a drink before I'm fondled," winked Bunny.

Was the giant rabbit flirting actually with Sherlock?

"Sherlock!" John hurried forward and pulled Sherlock's hand away. "Don't do that. It's... it's rude."

"You got a jealous boyfriend," Bunny smirked. 

"I'm not his boyfriend!" spat John. 

"Lucky for me," winked Bunny and turned to Jack. "I'm going to see North. See you later."

Bunny bumped his nose quickly to Sherlock's in an Eskimo kiss. He then left the room with a skip in his steps. John noticed that two large boomerangs was strapped to Bunny's back. 

"Wet," Sherlock touched his nose. "Like a dog's." 

"Was he flirting?" asked John, trying not to sound scandalised and failing. "Was the rabbit flirting?!"

"He is a rabbit," shrugged Jack. "You know how they are."

Sherlock smiled at John. 

"What?" John glared at him. 

"Nothing," Sherlock shook his head, and turned to Jack like nothing had happened. "How are we to find your Nightmare King? Neither I nor John have powers like yours. How can we look for him?"

"I will help you with anything I can."

"Very well," Sherlock got up. "I would like to start the investigation at the place Mr. Black was banished to after your fight with him."

"His nest," nodded Jack solemnly. "There are several wild shadows and Mares there. We need to bring plenty of light with us to hold them off."

John thought that sounded ominous. He wondered if it was dangerous. Sherlock didn't seem worried, though John suspected that their time apart had made it harder for him to read his friend. Sherlock was never an easy book to begin with. 

They left in search for North. Passing through the workshop John was curious at the sight of all the toys. He wondered how it worked. Did the parents never wonder where that extra toy or thing came from that no one seemed to have bought? He wondered if he had ever gotten a gift from this place as a child. 

They found North and Bunny in what looked like an office of a mad scientist. It had hundreds of blueprints, knickknacks, objects, projects, and stuff. 

"Hello again handsome," smirked Bunny at Sherlock. 

John bit his lip.

Everything was colours and movement. A large chemistry set with tiny beakers and tubes puttered in a corner, spreading multicoloured smoke and bubbles around itself. 

Sherlock walked over to have a closer look. 

"It's a toy set," he said, sounding a bit disappointed. "Just water, paint and soap."

"Ah," exclaimed North and beamed at Sherlock. "There is the boy! I knew I would remember. You have not common name, Sherlock. You stopped believing when not yet seven, but I still remember name. I have found your letter, look!"

North held a piece of slightly yellow paper in his hand. Sherlock frowned. 

"I never mailed you anything," he said eyeing the letter. "Mycroft teased me whenever I tried." 

"Yes older brother was very naughty boy, never believed in any of us. But I got letter, I have my ways."

Sherlock took the letter and looked it over. 

"I didn't get any of these things." 

"Hippopotamus too big for bag," shrugged North. "So is real pirate ship. And flamethrower dangerous for little boy. I gave you a new bow to violin to make beautiful music."

"Huh," Sherlock put his letter on the table next to a pile of newer ones. "We need lights, so we can go investigate the Boogyman's nest."

"Jack," North looked over at the boy who was studying the blueprint of some kind of a catapult. "You have told them?" 

"Not as such..." Jack squirmed a little under North's stern look. 

"Mate," Bunny shook his head disapprovingly. 

"What is it?" asked John, noticing that he had placed himself, almost unconsciously, between Bunny and Sherlock. 

"Let me venture a guess..." Sherlock stepped forward with an air of confidence.

He was about to make a deduction. John had missed this more than anything. It was strange how one could miss how one genius person distinguished themselves from others. It was pure bragging and John loved it. 

"The Nightmare King controls the shadows. Your defeat of him made him lose that control and the shadows rebelled, making him temporarily powerless. He slowly regains his powers but decides to disappear before reaching full strength. Now, several of the shadows are rogue, and therefore also quite dangerous. Am I right?"

The three spirits looked between them.

"You're right," said North, giving Jack a glance. "We made mistake not to look in on Pitch Black after the battle. Shadows need government, we took it away."

"He only had himself to blame," interrupted Bunny. "Now we're paying the price."

"Bunny will come with you to the nest," said North patting Bunny on the back.

"I can handle it," pouted Jack. 

"Safety in numbers, mate," Bunny twitched his button nose to Sherlock. 

"That's it!" exclaimed John taking a step towards the rabbit. "You are flirting with him. You are a giant rabbit and you flirting with my friend!"

Glaring up at the Easter-bunny's blue egg-shaped eyes, John realised how tall and muscular the creature actually was. He had big front-teeth resembling white chisels. Sharp claws probably hid behind those soft paws. By his stance it was clear that the Easter-bunny was no pushover, but a seasoned warrior. 

John stood his ground, tilting his head back. 

Bunny blinked down at him, his whiskers moving. Then a great smile appeared and split Bunny's face in two. He laughed and pressed John against his hard, but furry, chest in a surprise embrace that lifted John off the ground. He smelled like honeysuckle and the promise of early spring. 

"I like this lofty," Bunny laughed, letting go of John. "He's got goolies like a Tasmanian devil."

"Good!" roared North happily. "We are all good friends! You will have some food before hunting shadows, yes?"

"We're not hunting shadows!" shouted Jack. "We're looking for Pitch!"

Bunny was still laughing as he followed North out the room. Jack just rolled his eyes, shrugged apologetically, and floated after them.

"What just happened?" John felt like he had been rolled down a small grassy hill by a strong spring breeze. 

"He called you a small man with big balls," Sherlock passed him towards the door. 

"Oh..." John frowned.

He noticed that Sherlock's movements were strained. The man was probably still very tired, and his poor body-condition must take its toll. He wondered if Sherlock had eaten anything. John was quite ravenous himself. 

"Is he going to stop flirting with you?"

"Probably not," called Sherlock without turning around or slowing down. "You know how rabbits are."

"No, I bloody don't," John sighed and followed his friend, starting to remember just why he wanted to hit him so much in the first place.   
\--- __


	5. There is something in the shadows that shines through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets his explanation for Sherlock's absence, and Sherlock gets an early Christmas present from Santa.

They were shown to a warm and comfortable kitchen. The walls were red and were covered with copper pans. 

Their outer coats had been placed on the back of their chairs. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as he looked at his, he must know that it wasn't the original. It would be easy for him to fill in the dots from there. John tried to pretend like nothing though his heart was beating at a higher rate. 

Sherlock and John were served hot chocolate milk and cold turkey and ham sandwiches by a huge yeti with long braided moustaches and a pink apron. John noticed that Jack had gotten hold of some ice cubes again. North was eating cookies, and Bunny seemed fine with just watching Sherlock eat, or not eat as was the case.

John chewed slowly. Was he really jealous that a rabbit was flirting with Sherlock? A bunny? The Easter-bunny? Why would he be jealous? Sherlock wasn't his boyfriend. First of all John wasn't gay. Maybe he was bi-curious, but that was that.

Perhaps it was because Sherlock had just been returned to him. Someone flirting meant that there was a possibility that he would leave again. He would be alone again. The thought made him cold. 

"John," said Sherlock taking a sip of chocolate. "You are thinking. Please don't."

"Sorry," John drank some chocolate as well, it was perfectly sweetened. 

A very irritated yeti came in and walked straight up to John holding out a large fury fist. John flinched back.

"Huh huhh huu uh," hummed the yeti angrily in a familiar tune that John couldn't place.

The yeti opened his fist and John's mobile fell to the table with a small thud. The beast glared at John. To illustrate his point the mobile began to ring the tune that the yeti just had hummed. The yeti hit his fist on the table so hard the dishes rattled and two elves ran out from under the chairs. 

"Karl asks you to answer phone," said North. 

"Y-yes," John stammered. "Thank you... Karl."

Karl the yeti growled and left the kitchen. The yeti in the pink apron shooed him away with a dish towel. 

John looked down at the display. Two calls from Greg Lestrade, one from Molly Hooper, and no more than twenty-nine calls from Mycroft. The signal sounded again. Mycroft's thirtieth call. 

"Do you want to talk to your brother?" asked John, holding out he mobile to Sherlock. "Tell him that I haven't gone mental and kidnapped you."

"Fine," Sherlock took the mobile and answered. "Go away Mycroft. John has gone mental and kidnapped me."

"No!" John tried to grab the phone back but Sherlock had already pressed the off-button. "Sherlock!"

"Boring." 

Sherlock threw the mobile over his shoulder, the yeti with pink apron caught it. Jack, North and Bunny watched them, looking slightly shocked. 

"Are you mad?" yelled John. "Your brother is going to send the SAS to kill me."

"Don't be absurd, John," huffed Sherlock. "It'll more likely be a MI6-agent. Probably one of those James Bond-types you like so much."

"I feel so much better now! Eat your food."

John was really gearing up for that punch, Sherlock's fragile state be damned. Sherlock just smirked, took a piece of turkey off his sandwich and put it, almost as an afterthought, in his mouth. 

"He can't get to you here." Sherlock chewed slowly. "He doesn't even believe this place exists."

"Now I remember you," said Bunny narrowing his eyes. "You are that little bugger who found all my eggs at that Vancouver party Easter '87. I worked really hard on that. I was going to stump you the next year, but you weren't there."

"My father had a political posting in the Canadian British Embassy in '87," said Sherlock, thinking back. "He had me flown over that Easter to make people believe he was a good family man."

"Did it work?" asked Jack, pausing with an ice cube to his lips. 

"My father got moved to Washington, and I was the first student at my boarding-school to get a computer of my own. So it worked out quite well." 

John always felt double-edged when finding out things about Sherlock's childhood. In one way it made him happy to know more about the man, in another way it made him really sad. Sure, John hadn't hardly touched a computer before the age of nineteen and his father had been a drunk, but he still considered himself having a relatively happy childhood under the circumstances. 

"So many sad children," tutted North, shaking his head, and eating another cookie.

"You sure were good finding those eggs, mate," winked Bunny. 

"Yes," said John standing up and pushing away from the table. "Great. Fine. Shall we go look for the Boogyman now?"

The others seemed a bit shocked over John's abruptness. John didn't care. He wanted to get this madness over with, go home to London, punch Sherlock in the face, and go back to how it was before. God, he hoped Sherlock would like to have it back as it was before. The thought of Sherlock throwing him out, or not taking him with him on cases...

"John," said Sherlock, touching his arm gently. "You are thinking again."

"Sorry," John let out a breath. 

"Jealous boyfriend," whispered Bunny to Jack, who tried not to giggle and failed.

"I'm not his boyfriend!" sighed John. "I just want to get the case going."

"You are a brave man, John Watson," said North getting to his feet as well. "Jack has told me of your many jousts with nightmares, and here you are heading towards the Nightmare King's nest in great spirit. You, my dear boy, are warrior, like Cossack."

He patted John so hard on the back John almost fell forward over the table. North chuckled merrily. 

"Thank you, I think," John tried to find his breath. 

"Come," North took hold of John's arm and pulled him along out of the kitchen. "I will send you on your way. You will need good lights to fight shadows." 

"Are we fighting the shadows now?" huffed Sherlock as he followed. "Is there anything else about this case that you are hiding?"

"Not that comes to mind," said Jack in a far too happy voice. 

They took their coats with them and North led them to a part of the workshop where the yetis were making flash lights. Here were a huge variety of lights, all from small pink ones decorated with Disney princesses to massive handheld spotlights. 

"Where is the nest?" asked John.

He was looking over the large collection of flashlights, wondering how the yetis could make so many delicate things with their large hands and hairy fingers. Three small elves were amusing themselves by shining the lights in each other's eyes and then staggering blindly around the workbench. The yetis didn't seem happy, but what yeti did?

"Underground," said Jack. "It's an abandoned mineshaft not far from my hometown of Burges. Well, I say it's an abandoned mineshaft, but I think Pitch made it look like that to keep unwanted guests away."

That sounded a bit ominous. John knew Sherlock wasn't healthy yet, and the clothes he had brought wouldn't do much for protection. 

"Do you have better shoes for Sherlock to borrow?"

"There's nothing wrong with my shoes," said Sherlock affronted, looking away from the large yellow flashlight he was examining. 

"Those are city shoes," John gestured at Sherlock's feet. "They would never hold out in a cave. We should need some gloves and hats as well."

"I like these shoes," said Sherlock. 

"You like them even more when they are not ruined."

"No problem," said North. "We make shoe. Gregorio!"

A yeti with a tape measure showed up from seemingly nowhere and pointed on Sherlock's feet. The detective hesitated, but then bent down to untie his laces. Bunny hummed. 

John picked up a moderately big flashlight that seemed to have a good range if light. He tried to judge if it was worth hitting it over the perverted rabbit's head. He looked at the well-known American company logo on the side and wondered why the yetis even bothered making them. 

"Because they are special," said North, noting John's gaze. "Gifts from workshop is not like you buy in store, even if they look the same. Gift from workshop is special, brings little more wonder."

"How do you mean?" asked Sherlock who was taking off his sock and holding up his foot to the yeti to take measurements.

"An ordinary light will light up path," North shrugged. "A workshop light will inspire child's imagination for path to become adventure."

"My magnifying glass..." breathed Sherlock in amazement, but then his face fell. "It was broken to pieces when the other boys destroyed my room."

"Why would they do that?" asked Jack. 

"I told the dean where they hid their pornography." Sherlock looked down as a blinded elf walked into his leg. "I had to change schools not long after that." 

"Another sad story," North shook his head. 

North took the flashlight away from John, and gave it to Jack for holding. John had been gripping the light quite hard. He stretched his hand and looked away towards some elves decorating themselves as Christmas trees. 

"I will send you to Burges with snow globe," he said. 

"I rather take my tunnels, mate," said Bunny. "I don't like all that shiny stuff."

"You have tunnels?" asked Sherlock.

"The best way to travel," Bunny grinned proudly. 

"I want to see them."

"Of course you do," murmured John.

"Globe is faster," shrugged North taking a shimmering orb out of one of his large pockets. 

"It's not!" growled Bunny. 

"Only because you run," objected North, sounding like five year old trying to convince his friends that his toy was cooler than theirs. "Sherlock is not healthy enough for run like that."

"We're not in any hurry," protested Sherlock. "Even though I very well could manage a run, I surmise that shadows and nightmares, as well as the Mares you speak of, are must active during the night."

"Yes," said Jack hesitantly, he didn't seem to want to choose sides in the globe versus tunnels debate. "They are nightmares."

"And what time is it in Burges now?"

"Around seven in the evening."

Sherlock held out his hand to Jack as if the boy just had pulled out a rabbit from a top hat. John rolled his eyes and chose a new flashlight from the table, one bigger than the one before. He lit it up, and actually felt a bit of the thrill of adventure when he watched the light play over the walls. 

Long dark tunnels, Sherlock, and this light? They were just asking for trouble. 

"Let's just take the snow globe and get this over with."

"But John," pouted Sherlock. "I want to take the tunnels."

"He wants to take the tunnels," Bunny crossed his arms. 

"It's giant rabbit tunnels, John. Please."

Sherlock lit his own flashlight and held it under his chin, lighting up his angular face like a gruesome mask. Well, thought John, it was probably supposed to look gruesome, not exciting, beautiful, and a bit silly. Damn the magic light. He laughed in surrender. 

"Fine, we'll take the tunnels."

"See," said North, patting the back of the yeti making the flashlights. "They are working good."

"I could do some experiments on that..." said Sherlock looking down at the light and blinking at it. "I can see where the elves are coming from. This light is quite intriguing."

"Stop it, Sherlock," John pushed away the flashlight. "Or I'll declare you brain damaged and then you won't be going nowhere."

"Double negative, John. Your language skills has been slipping in my absence. Is that the reason you haven't been updating your blog?"

"No, Sherlock," John licked his lips and looked fiercely at his friend. "The reason I haven't done writing in the last year was because you were dead! Little hard to keep up a blog when the bloke it's about isn't around to inspire new posts." 

There was an uncomfortable silence after his outburst. Jack, North and Bunny looked like they wanted to be somewhere else, while the yetis actually looked up and were genuinely interested.

Sherlock became even paler. He looked away for a second but then fiercely returned his gaze to John. All the excitement the magical light had created was gone. John stood his ground. This was maybe not the best place to have this confrontation, and he didn't want to have it here, but it seemed to be happening anyway. 

"I did it for you," said Sherlock from between clenched teeth. "And for Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and for Molly. Even for Mycroft, a bit. But mainly for you!" He took a calming breath, still keeping eye contact with John. "They would have killed you. You might be able to live on without me, but I wouldn't be able to... without you..."

"Oh Sherlock..." 

John felt the fight go out of him. He reached out his left hand towards the face of his friend. Sherlock flinched as if he expected John to strike him. He relaxed a bit when John's hand was carefully placed on his cheek. John stroked a sharp cheekbone with his thumb. 

"What I was doing wasn't living..."

"You were alive..." Sherlock brought up his hand and placed it on top of John's and leaned into it. "That was enough."

"Stop it, Sherlock," smiled John, feeling his eyes prickle. "You are making me cry in front of Santa Claus."

"I do not mind," said North kindly.

"Let's talk about this later," John withdrew his hand. "Preferably when we are alone and back in London. This is not the time nor place. We have a missing spirit to find."

"And kids to save," said Bunny.

"What?" John turned away from Sherlock and looked at the rabbit. "What do you mean?"

Jack and North exchanged a worried look. The yeti had gone back to his work of making tiny light bulbs. 

"Obviously," said Sherlock, going back to his usual confident stance and voice. "The shadows and bad dreams, over which the Boogyman formally commanded, are in danger of going completely rogue. Since they clearly feed on fear, preferably human and even more preferably human children, it would be in everyone's interest to take back control over them."

"Okay..." 

John looked at Jack who just smiled and shrugged, the boy seemed to do a lot of that. He wondered if there was anything else this personification of ice and snow hadn't told them.

A yeti with long braided moustaches came up to them carrying a pair of thick boots. They covered the yeti's fore- and long fingers. Sherlock took them with a muffled thanks, and sat down on a nearby chair to pull them on.

"Are these influenced by the magic of the workshop as well?" asked Sherlock in a skeptical tone. "Will they help me find new paths? Or quicken my step as I run?"

"They do what you believe them to do," shrugged North. "As a child, what did you believe new shoes could do for you?"

"Protect my feet," Sherlock got up and walked a few steps to feel the fit of the boots. "I liked sneak, run, and climb without thinking about hurting them. Still..." He paused.

North gave him an understanding smile.

"Still not to be nice looking enough to make other children notice them."

The more John heard about Sherlock's childhood, the more he wanted to make Sherlock's life better now. He was still emotionally torn from what had happened earlier. That strong connection he had had with his friend, that he really couldn't think clear. He wanted to reach out again, but he held back. 

Sherlock sighed, still looking at his feet. 

"I like them," he turned to look around. "Shall we to the tunnels then?"


	6. If I could I would turn your dreams from dark to gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entering the Nightmare king's home and finding his abandoned pets.

Bunny opened up the entrance by tapping his toes against the wooden floor of the workshop. It looked like a deep round pit, or a empty well with earth walls.

"Have safe journey," North said as he stood back. "Don't hesitate to call on me if needed."

"Grab hold of your travel partner," said Bunny hooking his arm tightly with Sherlock's. 

John was about to protest when Jack hooked his arm with his. 

"It's to protect you from the fall," Jack indicated the hole in the floor with a nod. "Children are fine, but not all adults can handle it."

"Oh," John looked down the deep. "I guess that makes sense."

"Geronimo!" shouted Bunny and jumped over the edge, pulling Sherlock with him.

"Oh fuck," said John as he was dragged over by Jack

The fall only lasted for a few seconds and the landing was soft. It still gave John time to think about Sherlock laying in a pool of blood on the bottom of the hole. He let go of a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Sherlock was safe, and so was he. 

It was obvious that Bunny was proud of his tunnels. Some of the them where high enough for them to walk tall in, others they had to crawl on their knees. John didn't once feel the need to complain. He wondered if it was because of the light from the flashlights, the knowledge that they were traveling far underground, or just that he was part of an adventure with Sherlock again.

"Do these things even exist?" asked Sherlock in awe touching one of the walls, it crumbled a little under his fingers showing nets of delicate roots. "How come no one has found them?"

"Some parts have been found," Bunny patted the wall affectionately. "Humans rebuild many of them to homes, catacombs, train tunnels. Some of them only open when I'm around. Other tunnels have been here since before I was a joey..."

Jack burst out in a sudden laugh sound in as crisp as a clear winter morning. 

"I thought you weren't a kangaroo."

"I'm not," growled Bunny. "But unfortunately Australia isn't always so happy with rabbits."

"I thought you were German," said Sherlock as they walked on. "At least that's what the legends say about you."

"I was born there, but two-hundred years in Australia does things to you..." Bunny mused and directed them into a lower tunnel to which even John had to bend down. "We're soon there."

"Isn't this fun?" said Jack. "It's like an old time quest."

"Yes," smiled John. "But at the end there's not a pretty princess, but a nightmare king."

"I think Pitch is quite pretty, but don't you dare tell him that. Tell him I think he's devilishly manly."

John laughed. 

Bunny led them upwards towards some dusky light. The sun was setting on the outside. John had no idea what time his body was on, but he was peckish for tea. 

He smiled at Sherlock who smiled back. It was a look from the old days. From the time they were still getting to know each other and experienced every case as if it was a new adventure. 

"Let's do this," Bunny grabbed hold of Sherlock and held on tightly. "It worse on the way up, mate."

"Oh really?" said Sherlock with a smirk.

Jack rolled his eyes and put his arms around John. Bunny stomped his foot on the dirt floor and the four of them shot upwards as if out of a canon. They flew about a half a meter out of the hole and then landed on solid ground where the hole had been only moments ago. There was a single blue flower by their feet. 

They were standing in a lovely autumn forest with leaves in red, yellow and orange. It was one if the most beautiful things John had ever seen. 

"Ah," breathed Jack deeply and the closest trees got tinged by a light frost. "It feels good to be home. Come, the entrance to the lair is not far from here."

"Why is his nest so close to your home?" asked Sherlock as they walked through the colourful forest. 

"He was here first," said Jack. "It was just my luck to drown in a lake so close by. And anyway, his nest has many entrances. This is just one we are the most sure of."

"What do you mean you drowned?" asked John shocked, looking away from the splendour off the trees.

"Nobody's born a spirit, mate,” Bunny picked up some red leaves from the forest floor, they shrunk and turned young and green in his paws.

"So you all died?" asked Sherlock suddenly looking very interested. 

"Yeah," shrugged Jack.

He looked much sadder than he probably wanted to admit. it sounded interesting, but, John decided not to pry any further for the moment, thankfully Sherlock seemed to come to the same conclusion. 

They continued walking for a couple of minutes, going further into the forest. The chill in the air felt refreshing. Jack spread some frost around. John admired how the frost spirals played over the trees forming shapes of stars and ferns. 

Finally they arrived to what looked like a broken old bed-frame in the middle of a clearing. The sun had set but the shadows seemed somehow darker around the object. 

"How apt," whispered Sherlock under his breath. "The Boogyman hiding under a bed."

The bed frame was covering a dark deep hole. Compared to Bunny's hole, this hole seemed deeper, narrower, scarier. John felt his pulse beat harder as he leaned over to look down.

He noticed Sherlock's hand rising slightly as if to pull him away from the hole. John took a step back, feeling the unease from his friend. 

"So..." he said, trying not to sound slightly terrified. "Are we jumping in two and two like before?"

"It's a slide," said Jack. "You are supposed to fall down, sliding uncontrollably, and then land in a heap in complete darkness without knowing where you are. A common nightmare."

"Nice front door," Bunny´s nose twitched.

"It's right grand if you don't want to have visitors," said Sherlock, touching the frame carefully.

"Don't you get any ideas about our front door, Sherlock," laughed John. "I know what you are thinking... what?"

Sherlock was staring at him, grinning like a loon. The smile could only compare to a triple homicide in a locked room. John shifted a little, feeling like he didn't deserve to be gazed at in that way. It embarrassed him, and made him feel very happy at the same time´ 

"What?" he repeated, glancing quickly to Bunny and Jack who both looked confused. 

"Thank you," said Sherlock. "For saying 'our front door', John."

"Oh," John blinked. "Of course it is our front door, Sherlock. As if I'd ever let you out of my sight again. If this year has proved anything to me it's that I'm lost without you."

"How cliché," said Sherlock, though sporting a honest half smile.

Jack cleared his throat. He was leaning on his staff, playing with his flashlight like a fiery baton letting the beam of light send its magic of adventure play over the clearing. John felt his adrenaline increase at the sight of it. Jack laughed.

"Sorry to interrupt," he smiled and gestured towards the hole. "But shall we?"

"Of course," Sherlock straightened his back and looked at the darker darkness surrounding the entrance. He lit his own flashlight and shone it on the hole. There were still shadows there, moving slowly away.

"Age before beauty," said Bunny stepping up in front of Sherlock. 

"And how old are you?" asked John.

"Stopped counting at five-hundred, mate," shrugged Bunny placing himself on the edge of the dark hole. "Didn't really matter after that."

"Are you going down or..." Jack gestured towards the entrance by Bunny's feet.

"I'm preparing, mate," Bunny glanced down. 

"Prepare this," said Jack poking his staff to Bunny's rear.

Bunny screamed bloody murder as he lost balance and fell headlong down the hole.

"What?" shrugged Jack. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm in a hurry."

John gave a short laugh. He turned to Sherlock, who was preparing to jump, and felt a pang in his chest. He placed a hand on the taller man's shoulder. 

"I'll go first and catch you," he said, and then added with a smile. "You heard the rabbit, 'age before beauty'." 

Sherlock blinked at him through the sparsely lit night. John stood his ground, he was done seeing Sherlock fall without being able to catch him. How many times during this past year had he imagined that he would have been standing under that rooftop, letting Sherlock downwards hurtling body kill them both? Or that he was falling next to him, holding his hand?

Without any ceremony of warning Sherlock pushed Jack down the hole. The frost-spirit gasped in surprise. A strong gush of ice-cold wind followed him down, forcing both John and Sherlock to take a step back. The hole was now edged with ice. 

"What?" Sherlock shrugged. "He's older than you and prettier than me, logically it was his turn. And..." he pointed at the ice "...now there is a slide. Much safer for us mere mortals."

John was tempted to call Sherlock 'love' again, but settled for a fond smile. 

"You really are a genius." 

"Have you ever had any doubt?" 

No, he really hadn't. 

Sherlock sat down at the edge of the hole, letting his feet dangle into the, now iced, darkness. John tried to protest but was cut off by Sherlock spread his legs and patting the ground between them as an invitation to John to sit down. He hesitated only for a moment before manoeuvring to place. Sherlock hooked his long legs around John's thighs and pressed his chest to John's back by embracing him under the arms. 

John felt like he was wearing a Sherlock-backpack. He was about to slide down a dark hole leading to the lair of the Nightmare King, and he never felt more safe in his life. There was also something strangely Freudian about this, but John tried to ignore it.

"Ready?" asked Sherlock. 

"Ready," said John, taking the flashlight and pointing it forward. 

They pushed away from the edge.

It was like all the slides and roller-coasters John had ever been on tucked into one. It was the most thrilling and terrifying things he had ever done, and John had once been given a lift by a maverick American fighter pilot over the Afghani desert to get to an emergency surgery in time. Judging by Sherlock's grip, he was pretty excited as well.

The light did little to ease the darkness or to soothe their fears as it danced over the earth and ice before them. John tried not to giggle, but couldn't help letting it out when he both felt and heard the rumbling of Sherlock's chest behind him as the man gripped him tighter. They were full on laughing as they reached the bottom of the slide and tumbled, slightly painfully, into Jack and Bunny. 

"Well I'm glad you're enjoying yourselves," said Bunny, pushing John off his surprisingly cuddly belly. 

"Lay off them, Buns," smiled Jack, getting to his feet by the help of his staff. "They're just having some fun." 

"Never call me 'Buns', Ice Pick" growled Bunny. 

John got up first and helped Sherlock to his feet. They were in a small cave, about the size of their sitting room at Baker Street. The flashlights made the shadows flicker even though John held his absolutely still. 

"This way," said Jack, pointing his staff towards an opening that only marginally distinguished itself from the dark. "The main hall."

They began to walk, Bunny bringing up the rear. 

"Interesting..." said Sherlock was shining his light everywhere, not really looking where he was going. "John, give me your phone."

"I doubt you can get reception down here," said John but still taking up the mobile from his pocket and giving it to Sherlock. 

Sherlock just gave him a diminishing look. John wondered why that look made him feel so happy. Somehow it felt like home. Next he wondered how long it would take for him to grow really tired and irritated by that look. He sighed and concentrated on following Jack. 

They entered a huge cave, it looked partly natural and partly manmade. It was dimly lit by some kind of blue luminous algae growing on the stone walls. The roof was filled with hundreds of antique-looking birdcages, all empty. In the centre of the cave, on a large rock-pedestal, was a large metal globe depicting the Earth. It looked like it had been built by a scrapyard-artist, John thought it was quite impressive.

"Interesting..." repeated Sherlock.

John thought that he meant the globe or the cages, but when he looked over at Sherlock the man was focused on a narrow crevice in the wall. In John's eyes the crevice was filled with shadows, and even more in the light of the flashlights. He thought it a bit spooky and too much reminiscent of his nightmares. 

John turned to look back up at the cages. Jack came to stand beside him.

"They are where Pitch imprisoned the dream-sand and experimented on it to make the Night Mares. He then used the cages to trap all of the Tooth-fairy's little helpers during the battle."

"And you still like him?" asked John with a frown.

"I ask that every day, Mate," huffed Bunny. "Tooth was distraught."

"He could easily had killed them all," huffed Jack back. "But he didn't."

Bunny just gave a snort.

"John," Sherlock waived him over. "Come look at this."

Reluctantly John walked over, Jack and Bunny curiously following. Sherlock was holding John's mobile, shining its small light into the crevice. Strangely enough, the light from the mobile shone right through the shadows and darkness, only showing the rock walls. It looked so normal that John actually was surprised.

"No wonder these places are so easily passed by the science community," said Sherlock. "Light made by non-believers doesn't register the shadows."

"Go figure," said Bunny and scratched one of his long ears. "So where to now? This place is empty as the insides of a cheap chocolate version of me."

"I would like to see a Night Mare," said Sherlock. "From what you are saying I understand that Pitch, as you call him, made them. They should have a connection to him that is stronger than the shadows."

"Are you proposing we should use one as a search dog?" asked John.

"That's actually not a bad idea," said Jack. "On my last time here I saw a herd of them in another cave. It's a kind of a stable, I think."

"As long as we don't use real dogs," said Bunny with a twitch to his button-nose. "Those buggers don't like me one bit."

"Weren't you killed by a dog?" asked Jack with pure mischief in his voice.

"Don't want to talk about it," growled Bunny in a tone that put a stop to any further questioning.

Jack led them to an adjoining cave system of passages and tunnels, all dark with shadows. Sherlock walked next to Jack holding up the mobile to light their way, disbursing the darkness. John wondered how Jack could remember all the passages, but he guessed that the boy had spent a lot of time down there searching for Pitch. 

John smiled, he was still calling Jack 'the boy', even though he knew Jack was so much older, a frost spirit, and apparently dead. As were Bunny. John was getting pretty used to being among the living dead. The afterthought made him shiver, Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him but said nothing.

They could hear neighing and rustling as they closed in to the cave stable. There was no smell of horses whatsoever, only stale air and hints of fear. John had never imagined fear as a smell before, but there it was. He hurried his steps so that he caught up with Sherlock. Apparently his first reaction to fear was to keep his friend safe.

The Night Mares were the most beautiful black horses John had ever seen, except for their red glowing eyes that seemed to look into his soul. A cascade of bad memories bubbled to the surface of his conscious. Failed surgeries, fallen soldiers, his shoulder exploding with pain, the hollowing loneliness, Sherlock plummeting to the sidewalk...

"John!" Sherlock gave his face a small slap. "Concentrate. You are upsetting the Mares."

John gasped for air. He hadn't noticed himself kneeling on the cave floor. He felt a soft fury paw grazing over his neck and suddenly he was filled with an emotion that he could only describe as 'Hope'. The Hope made him feel confident enough to slow down his breathing and steady his running mind.

"Go on, mate," said Bunny, assisting Sherlock in helping him to his feet. 

"Thank you," John took another strengthening breath. "That was..."

"No problem," Bunny smiled, letting his split upper lip reveal his sharp front teeth even more. 

Sherlock glanced between them with a frown but then turned back to the Mares. 

They were quite agitated, roused by John’s sudden surge of emotion. The smell of fear was more palatable but the Hope Bunny had given him gave John the strength to stand up to it. 

He wondered why Sherlock didn't seem as affected, but then noticed that his friend was still holding the mobile and shining its light on the strange creatures. He wondered for how long the battery would last, he hadn't brought the charger. The light didn't shine through them as it did the shadows, instead it seemed to make them look like moving black stone. They were beautiful.

The stable cave, John noticed, was just a cave. It didn't have any features of a stable whatsoever, it was more like a indoor, underground, field. The Mares were either walking around the cave floor or flying at different speeds across the air. None of the creatures seemed to be interested in getting close to the small expedition. 

"How are we supposed to catch one?" asked John.

He looked to Bunny, who looked at Sherlock, who looked at Jack.

"Don't look at me," said Jack. "Unless you want them frozen solid, I can't really do anything."

"We need some kind of tether," frowned Sherlock. "I suppose an ordinary one won't work."

"They are made of sand," said Jack. "They would just move right through it."

"Sandy," said Bunny.

"What?" Sherlock had been trying to reach out to touch one of the Mares but it had scattered away. 

"The Sandman," said Bunny. "These buggers are made of his sand originally, before Pitch corrupted it. He should be able to catch one of them."

"Can we call him?" John frowned.

"North has a beacon," said Jack. "But that is a bit extreme for this. Best thing is just go to the nearest town that has night and wait for him to appear to give dreams to children."

It sounded too silly to be true, but John had met Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Jack Frost, so why not the Sandman? 

"I'll go up and look for him," said Jack moving back towards were they had come from. "You all right to wait here?" 

"Sure," said Sherlock absently.

He was watching the Mares, looking almost like a young boy at a cowboy ranch. He was also continually taking pictures with the mobile.

"You are going to run out of battery!" called John as he sat down on the ground, leaning against the stonewall. 

"It's at fifty-three percent," Sherlock took another picture. "It'll be fine. North is sure to have a charger if you are worried."

Bunny laughed, hunkered down on his hind legs next to John where he could get a good view of Sherlock.

"And then the search engine will spontaneously open on adventure trails and lost treasures..." 

John looked at him curiously.

"What?" said Bunny. "We're not all outdated in outback. I have a mobile."

He reached around his back to the strap he had his boomerangs attached to and brought out a impressively modern smartphone. He showed it to John who took it and looked it over before giving it back.

"Impressive," he said. 

"Damn right," said Bunny checking his messages. "You have to keep up with kiddies nowadays. Tooth has a search active for anyone who messages about teeth. Surprisingly many put pictures of their dropped teeth online, she says."

"Sorry?" Sherlock came closer. "Who is Tooth?"

"The Tooth-fairy," said Bunny. "She's a guardian too."

"Tooth-fairy..." sighed Sherlock and turned back to watching the Mares.

"What is it, Sherlock?" asked John. "Getting too much for you?"

It was certainly beginning to get too much for John. He had always felt himself quite open to new possibilities but this adventure had had him doubting his sanity from the start. He couldn't even start to imagine how the ever rational and calculating genius was feeling in the face of all this. Sherlock was watching the Mares intently. 

"When you eliminated the impossible, however improbable, you will always find the truth," said Sherlock. "And if the truth is unbelievable, then you have to either learn to be a believer or become insane."

"And what are you?" smirked Bunny. 

"I haven't yet decided," Sherlock smiled back over his shoulder. "But I'm quite happy with this state of being either way."

John laughed. The sound echoing of the walls made the Mares more skittish. One of them bumped into Sherlock whose pale face suddenly got even paler, and he seemed a bit dizzy.

"Sherlock?" John was halfway up when the other man settled.

"I'm fine," Sherlock took a breath. "Just a flashback to a bad memory. Interesting." He looked at the Mare with great interest. "I could conduct experiments with that."

"But you aren't."

"But John..."

"No!"

Sherlock started to sulk. John leaned back against the stone. Bunny was writing on his mobile, even though it couldn't possibly have any connection unless it was magical, and maybe it was. The Mares seemed to calm down a bit, but were still looking at them like they were hoping to scare them into some bad memories, or just to up the ante of fearfulness in the cave. 

"They are very uncoordinated," noted Sherlock. "It's clear that they need a firm leader."

"Yeah," said Bunny putting the mobile back in the boomerang holster. "Confidence is apparently very important with these beasties. Pitch lost his and they turned on him like a pack of rabid dingos." He then paused, looking Sherlock over. "You're not so bad yourself there."

"Hey!" huffed John without thinking. 

"Relax, jealous boyfriend," smirked Bunny with a wave of his paw. "Why do you think the brumbies haven't nibbled your brain full of nightmares by now? It's because your man is standing there being all confident with them."

John glanced to Sherlock who gave him a cheeky grin over his shoulder before turning back to the Mares. 

"He's not my boyfriend," muttered John, pulling his legs to his chest. 

How could he be? John hadn't even asked Sherlock out yet? And what is this 'yet'-business? Sherlock had just returned. Returned from being dead for over a year. John was going to hit the git straight in the jaw, not ask him out on a date. And if he was going to ask Sherlock out, and this was a big 'if', then it would take much more of Sherlock than holding back a hoard of Night Mares with a cheeky smile for John to pop the question. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a cool wind coming through the cave entrance. Not long after Jack entered, he was followed by a golden man half his height and twice his girth. 

As he entered the golden man caught sight of Sherlock and started to grin. Waves of sand poured out of his head shaping different hurried pictograms, the most distinctive being a deerstalker and a magnifying glass. 

"Oh great..." said Sherlock with a tired sigh.

"What?" asked John, not looking away from the happy little man. 

"Apparently, the Sandman is a fan of mine."

xxxx


	7. Some dreams are for dreamers while other dreams are there for the world to see.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock catches a Mare, but it gives him memories that are disturbing to both him and John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta Memprime <3

John realised quickly that the Sandman was not able to speak, and could only communicate with the pictures made of sand forming above his head. Sherlock seemed to understand him right away, easily deciphering the language even the Sandman's closest friends sometimes seemed to have trouble understanding. 

The Sandman didn't seem a bit insulted that his friends didn't understand all his signs. Though John guessed that it could probably be frustrating at times.

The reason that the Sandman had recognised Sherlock right away was because there was the staggeringly number of children dreaming to be like Sherlock when they grew up. They probably saw him like a dashing hero solving crimes and chasing bad guys, not as an eccentric genius with an irrational attention-span like John did, albeit dashing.

"I've known Sandy ever since I first became a spirit," whispered Bunny to John as they watched Sherlock and Sandy talk. "I still miss a few things, but Sherlock is as good at it as North."

Sherlock looked over at them. 

"Haven't you ever gotten a puzzle book for Christmas?" he asked. "North obviously based most of the ciphers on Sandy here."

Sandy nodded happily and showed a book and a pen over his head.

"Sherlock," laughed John. "You stopped believing in Santa when you were six, please don't tell me you have saved your puzzle books for thirty years."

"Certainly not," Sherlock adjusted his collar. "Mummy has. She is a terrible hoarder, and please don't draw parallels to me, I've heard them all. Anyway, sometimes there are still unsolved ones at flea markets."

John smiled to himself, imagining a Sherlock so bored and so longing for stimulation that he even solved children's puzzles. It was kind of sweet. Sherlock gave him a disapproving look and turned back to Sandy.

"Jack told you, right?" said Sherlock. "We need a tether for one of the Mares so she can lead us to Pitch."

Sandy nodded enthusiastically. He narrowed his golden eyes and looked over the Mares, then he pointed around the herd and a question mark appeared over his head. He was asking which one of the beasts Sherlock had in mind. 

"One of the calmer ones," Sherlock said slowly. "Perhaps the one that looks the most sad, someone at the back."

"Why?" asked Jack curiously. 

"Because those are the ones missing the Nightmare King the most," said Sherlock. 

John bit his lower lip, forcing himself to keep quiet. He noticed Sherlock looking at him and turned away to gaze into the darkness for a moment. He thought about it, would he had gone looking for Sherlock if he had known he was alive? Of course he would have, within a moment. 

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Once we get her well away from the safety of the herd, she's going to search for her master. Then we follow."

While they had been talking Sandy had spun a long golden rope seemingly out of thin air. It was like watching a small magician, but instead of the rope being pulled out of a sleeve Sandy pulled it out of his fisted hand. John reached out and touched the rope, it felt like ordinary rope, though lukewarm.

"That one," said Sherlock pointing to a Mare that was almost covered in shadows further in the cave.

John had to stand on his toes to get a proper look. The Mare was standing still, watching her kin trotting around. There were a few other calm ones close to her as well, but she looked especially lethargic. Her red eyes defiantly weren't as bright as the others.

"Do you want me to freeze her?" asked Jack.

"Won't that aggravate her?" asked John, already felling a connection to the beast.

"Let's try catching her the regular way first," said Sherlock slowly.

"Sherlock," John took a step forward. "What are you thinking?"

"What does it look like I'm thinking?" said Sherlock continuing to tie a expert lasso noose on the golden rope. 

"You look like you are thinking of wrangling a horse."

John took another step, but stopped when several Mares suddenly became more interested in him. His worry for Sherlock was probably making them edgy, feeding them fear. 

"I can do it," Sherlock had already fixed his eyes on the depressed Mare on the other side of the cave. "Try to calm yourself down. You are making them hungry."

"Why do you have to do it?" 

"Because some of the Mares still see the Guardians as their enemies, and you are too scared," Sherlock was moving slowly closer to the herd. 

"I'm not scared of them!" huffed John. "I'm scared for you! You are still not well."

John's worry churned in his stomach. He remembered the look on Sherlock's face when the man had been graced by the Mare earlier. That was a look that he never wanted to see on his friend's face again. He was about to move again when a gentle paw pulled him back. 

"Easy there, mate," said Bunny in a low voice. "Remember the boots. They make his steps more confident."

"Confident," hissed John back irritably, but let Bunny keep a hold of his arm. "Not impervious."

He noticed to his right that Jack and Sandy had taken to the air and ware now hovering a few feet over the ground to get a better look at what Sherlock was doing. Jack had his staff at the ready. It made John feel a little better, but he was still fretting. The hope Bunny had given him before was ebbing out. 

Sherlock moved slowly, guided by the mobile light, keeping his bare hands to his chest and his coat collar turned up to protect his face. The Mares didn't seem happy with him there but they moved out of his way, albeit reluctantly. Some of them pushed and nibbled at the his coat, but even though John could hear small gasps of fear Sherlock didn't break his stride. 

John wondered what Sherlock's fears were. He had already guessed a long time ago that the detective's greatest fear was loneliness as well, but John also guessed that Sherlock had learned to live with that fear. John thought about the last year, had Sherlock been lonely? John most certainly had. 

Sherlock had now reached the Mare. It was hard for John to see from this angle due to his lower height, the shadows, and the other Mares in the way, but he noticed the sparkle of gold as Sherlock reached out with the noose. He held his breath, both irritated and glad that he had Bunny's paw to rely on.

He could hear Sherlock soothing hushes to the beast. They sounded more and more strained as he made his way back. The Mares seemed more agitated and curious now. John tried to contain his worry but couldn't help but to shift from foot to foot. 

When Sherlock emerged from the hoard he was very pale and tears wee streaking down his cheeks. His eyes were blown and red. Still he kept on walking confidently, pulling gently on the golden rope. The Mare walked calmly behind him like she didn't even care that she was walking. 

Bunny nudged John, making them move out of Sherlock's path. 

"You can't stop here, mate," he berated with a slightly cracked voice. "You need to go all the way out. We will follow right behind you."

"Right," Sherlock breathed without slowing down his pace.

John and the three spirits followed as Sherlock continued to lead the Mare through the tunnels back to the main hall with the globe. He had no idea how the man could have remembered the way.

In the main hall some of the cages in the ceiling swung as they passed. It was like both Sandy and the Mare were working as magnets on them. John suspected it was because if the connection to the dream-sand. Sandy seemed to think it amusing and did a circle in the air letting the cages follow him around before he got serious again and followed Sherlock. 

When they reached the, still frozen, entrance Sherlock hesitated for a moment. The Mare only shook her ears. Jack hurriedly floated up next to Sherlock and offered him his hand. John couldn't see the expression on his friend's face but noticed the tremor in his hand as it took Jack's. 

Jack pulled Sherlock with him up through the hole. The Mare followed without trouble. 

"Here," said Bunny giving John a kind shove. "It'll be easier if Sandy helps you up than me."

Sandy held out his golden childlike hand to John, he nodded and took it. The Sandman's skin felt a bit grainy, but it was warm. It reminded John of the time in Afghanistan when he had found a small girl lost in a bazaar and helped to find her mother. He hung on the Sandman's hand like that little girl had hung on to his.

It was quite different going up the hole than going down, not just because he was dragged upwards by his hand, but also that he remembered how Sherlock had laughed on the way down. 

At the top the forest was completely dark and the sky covered in large clouds. All flashlights had been turned off. The only thing visible was the Mare's red eyes. The only sounds were the rustling of the trees and Sherlock's heavy breath. John began to move towards the latter sound.

"Wind," said Jack's voice.

A strong breeze shook the branches close by and John could feel several leaves fall on his head and face. Soon after the heavy clouds above shattered and a half moon became visible on the sky, giving them some gentle light. 

"Sherlock?" John asked lighting his flashlight. "Are you all right?"

The beam fell on the tall man sitting on the ground next to the Mare's hooves. It was difficult to see who was the most miserable one. John hurried to Sherlock and dragged him away from the Mare by his armpits. Sandy took the rope. 

"Sherlock?" John stroked wet curls from his friend's warm forehead. "You are burning up."

"John?" Sherlock whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" laughed John without knowing why. "You're running a fever and you're pale as a sheet, and you're asking me if I'm okay?"

"You were going to kill yourself..." 

There was clear pain in Sherlock's voice. John felt his own heart clench. Sherlock couldn't possibly be talking about...

"I..." 

"That night in June..." Sherlock leaned forward placing his head to John's shoulder. "I saw the pictures... of you on the bridge... The papers didn't print your name but I knew it was you."

John didn't know what to say. Were those the visions the Night Mare's had given Sherlock? Those that made him cry? He glanced to the three spirits, they were standing close by with the Mare, pretending they weren't listening in. 

"June was bad," John sighed, embracing Sherlock and pulling him closer. "The heat got to me, I didn't like the medication they were giving me... And I just... I just... But that's no real excuse. You know what made me step down though?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head.

"I thought of a joke you would make about the situation... It made me laugh."

Sherlock leaned closer with a small smirk. 

"Mycroft must have thought you had gone mad." 

"Like he does now?" John grinned. 

"You got a couple of texts," Sherlock gave him the mobile.

"I bet I have..." 

"What was the joke?"

"You know, I really can't remember," smiled John. "But I'm sure it was both sassy and genius."

"Of course," smiled Sherlock weakly.

They sat quiet for a moment, letting the night air flow around them. Bunny then cleared his throat. 

"Sorry to intrude on your lovey-dovey there," he said, "But what are we going to do now?" 

"We're going back to the Workshop," said John. 

"No," protested Sherlock weakly. "We need to let the Mare lead us to Pitch."

"Sherlock!" John banned. "You are ill! And you said yourself that we needed to get the Mare well away from here to make her start looking for her master. She doesn't seem in any condition right now."

"I agree," said Jack. "Let's go back to the Workshop and regroup."

Sandy formed a candy cane over his head. He agreed as well.

Sherlock gave a heavy sigh and nodded weakly. John felt worried that the detective conceded so quickly, that meant that Sherlock was feeling the strain. He wondered if there had been more bad memories relived during the capture of the Mare. 

John helped Sherlock to his feet. It was a bit harder than expected since Sherlock put most of his weight on John. 

Bunny stamped the ground with his foot and a hole opened up, making a pile of leaves fall down through the soil. It smelled of earth and fresh flowers. John reluctantly turned Sherlock over to Bunny, and held out his own arm to Jack.

Sandy pointed to himself and then the sky, making a jumping horse, a deerstalker, and a candy-cane with the sand over his head. 

"Are you not coming with us?" asked John.

"If you observed," said Sherlock. "You would have noticed that he was saying that he was going to take the Mare to the Workshop through the air so that I can recover better on the way."

"Oh," John gave an embarrassed smile. "Sorry."

Sandy patted his hand to say that it didn't matter. Then he took to the air, pulling the Mare with him. 

"Let's go then," said Bunny, took a better hold of Sherlock, and jumped down the hole.

Jack and John followed them. John hoped that Sherlock would agree to a rest when they got back to the Workshop.


	8. The truth be told, where dreams are concerned, I'm yours.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea is finally found and our heroes meet the Tooth fairy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. I miss-numbered my buffer chapters and thought I already had published this one. So Sorry!

When they got back to the Workshop John immediately took Sherlock the room where they had slept before. He pulled off Sherlock's coat and hung it over a nearby chair. Then he guided the detective to the bed and helped him to sit down.

"Thank you," said Sherlock as John kneeled down to untie his shoe laces. 

"Don't expect this service all the time," said John pulling of the right shoe, almost taking the black sock with it. "It's just because you are ill." 

"No," Sherlock shook his head slowly. "I meant for the coat."

"Oh..." John blushed and pulled off the other shoe this time taking the sock as well. "It's nothing..."

"I saw the package. And the postal stamp. You bought that months ago."

"Yeah..." John breathed and looked back at Sherlock's right foot and the sock that was halfway down over the heal. "I was just looking at clothes for myself online and came across it..."

"Too expensive a brand for you isn't it?" Sherlock too looked at the sock like it held all the answers. "Even if you had money you would never go to a website like that to look for clothes for yourself. You deliberately looked for the coat."

"You think you are so smart, don't you?" John irritably pulled off the sock and threw it over his shoulder without caring were it landed.

"Yes," Sherlock turned his fever-glossy eyes to look at John's. "I do."

"Of course you do. Now lie down and try to sleep."

"No!" Sherlock reached out and grabbed hold of John's arm. "I don't want to sleep."

There was real fear in his eyes. 

"Is it because of the images the Mares gave you?" John gave in to his urge to push some strands of hair away from his friend's forehead. "Where there other than... than of me?"

"You were in most of them," admitted Sherlock catching John's hand. "But then again you have been in most of my thoughts for the last year."

John blinked at this confession. He took a breath. Sherlock was feverish, was he aware what he was talking about? Was John even aware what Sherlock was talking about? He felt that he should answer back with something like 'you have been in my thoughts as well', but the words got stuck in his throat. There was only silence and continuous awkward pauses. Then Sherlock looked away, as if ashamed. 

"I'm sorry."

"Sher..."

"I've never expected your forgiveness, John," Sherlock lay down with his head on the pillow. 

John rubbed a hand in frustration over his face as he looked down at his returned friend. What was he supposed to say? He hadn't forgiven Sherlock, yet, but that was because he had pushed it aside for this adventure. The events of the last day lay so near to the experience of madness and dreams that he was afraid that Sherlock himself wasn't real.

"Sherlock..."

He was interrupted by a boisterous knock on the door. North came inside before John had time to ask for some privacy.

"John, Sherlock," said North. "You have found Mare, good work. Sandy is back with her."

"Yes," said Sherlock moving to sit up. "We must be off."

"No," John put a firm hand on Sherlock's chest to hold him down. "You are going to rest if I so have to tie you to the bed!"

North looked between them but then nodded. 

"You listen to your doctor," he held out a finger as if chastising a naughty child. "I get yeti to watch over you." 

He turned around and called down the corridor after someone named Phil. Sherlock looked like he was about to protest but the sheer size of the yeti coming into the room made the words freeze on his tongue. Phil gruffed threateningly, Sherlock laid back.

"Well," said John with a impressed breath. "Maybe we should take a yeti home with us."

"Us?" said Sherlock in a whisper, letting Phil tuck him in under the sheets.

John sighed and smiled down at his friend on the bed who was looking up at him with pleading eyes. He looked really sweet, and young.

"Yes," he said. "I said 'us', you git. Now go to sleep."

"John?"

"Yes?"

Several emotions ran over Sherlock's face at once, John was out of practice to read them all but he noticed both worry and hesitation. There was also a bit of wonder.

"Tea," said Sherlock after a few moments and lay down on his back on the bed.

John gave a sigh before he followed North out of the room. He was still quite angry at Sherlock, but it would wait until the man was feeling better to take it out on him. He had been saying that a lot lately, now he was starting to worry if it was ever going to happen. Probably not.

"You care for him," said North.

"More than I realised," smiled John. 

"What will you get him for Christmas?" 

"Getting down to the big questions already?"

"Is important," shrugged the jolly man directing John towards the kitchen. "Not many weeks left now."

"I'll think about it," John laughed, thinking that Sherlock better have something good for him as well. "He's a difficult man to shop for."

The kitchen was full of elves, it looked like they were trying to bake something, maybe cookies. There was a lot of flour in any case, and it was all over the kitchen. North didn't seem to mind, just a fond roll of his eyes, John imagined that living with elves was like living with Sherlock. Except that he doubted that the elves would ever leave eyeballs in the egg-carton.

Speaking of egg-cartons, one of the elves who was dressed more colourfully than the others, was sitting in one and hugging some of the white orbs forlornly to his small chest. John didn't even know that elves could look forlorn. 

"Dingle has bad crush," said North giving the elf a sad smile.

"Oh," John blinked

He had noted that several elves were named Dingle, maybe it was a surname, or it was just a popular name.

"Eggnog?" asked North. "Hot chocolate?"

"Could I just have some plain tea, please?" John knew he shouldn't oblige Sherlock, but he felt he could do with a cuppa as well.

North looked a bit conflicted as he looked around the messy kitchen. An elf, that resembled a miniature Christmas tree, was licking a spatula covered in frosting while sitting on a upside-down china cup. Two others were fighting over a flowery oven-mitten, while a second pair actually seemed to be making out in a dust cloud of flour.

"I don't know where tea is," confessed North.

John was suddenly determined enough in his craving for something as normal as tea that he offered to look for it. North pushed some elves aside from the stove to put the kettle on.

By the time John had located a tin of Earl Grey Christmas-Blend, they had been joined in the messy kitchen by Jack, Bunny, and Sandy. They brought with them a very pretty woman that seemed to be covered with blue, green and purple feathers. The most distinctive thing about her, however, was probably that she had fast-moving fairy wings and her feet were not on the floor. 

John was awkwardly holding the tea tin between his hands while watching the woman flutter around. She seemed to have her own entourage of small hummingbirds following her around. One of the birds had cozied up in Jack's hoodie.

He realised he was staring when one of the elves gave a happy shout and ran over to hug Bunny's leg. It was Dingle the colourful forlorn egg-hugging elf, and it was now clear who was the big crush. Bunny looked like he was suffering for a moment, but then sighed to lift the small creature to sit on his right shoulder. Dingle looked like his smile was going to split his head in two.

John smiled as well.

"Oh!" the bird-woman suddenly cried out and stormed towards John, who dropped the tea tin on the floor. "Show me your teeth! Oh! They are strong and clean, but you like your sweets don't you?" 

"I'm sorry?" John backed into the table before the hummingbirds got too close to his face with their small beaks.

"Oh!" the birdwoman blushed and held out a delicate hand. "I'm sorry! I'm the Tooth-fairy, but you can call me Tooth." 

"John Watson," said John taking her offered hand. 

"You are the one looking for Pitch then?" she glanced sadly at Jack. "I really hope you find him, he is greatly missed."

"Really?" asked Bunny settling down by the table. "I never thought I hear you say that."

"I collect children's teeth, Bunny," said the Tooth-fairy. "That means I come at night while they are dreaming. I know when they are having nightmares, and there are some bad ones out there. I've seen the shadows creeping around. Pitch needs to come back and take control of them."

"So..." John glanced to Sandy. "If you need this Pitch to control the nightmares, why did you make him leave?"

"Is difficult..." began North. 

"He tried to take over the world!" interfered Bunny.

"That was because he thought nobody cared for him!" argued Jack.

"That's no excuse!" Bunny snapped back. 

Sandy began flashing quick golden images over his head in quick concession. It made the elf on Bunny's shoulder so dizzy trying to follow them that he had to take hold of one of Bunny's long ears not to fall off. 

"That is true," nodded North looking a bit ashamed.

"What?" asked John.

"They all forgot the balance," said Sherlock coming into the kitchen and sitting down heavily at the table.

"You should be resting," John gave him a stern look.

"And you were supposed to bring me a cup of tea," countered Sherlock. "Besides the yeti you left me with snore."

John just rolled his eyes and walked over to the kettle, picking the tea tin off the floor on the way. North was sneaking cookies out of a jar, the kitchen yeti glared at him.

"What balance?" asked Jack, leaning against his staff. 

"From what I understand," explained Sherlock in his all-knowing voice that John, strangely enough, had missed so much. "There needs to be healthy balance between Light and Dark, as Sandy just explained. You are those who keep that balance with the Light. But you forgot that the Nightmare King does the same thing by controlling the Dark. It's simple. He was ignored, he got angry and tried to take over, you beat him and drove him off, now the Dark is left uncontrolled."

"You really have nice teeth," said the Tooth-fairy.

"Thank you," said Sherlock with a tired smile. "I floss."

The small hummingbird-people made dreamy 'aw'-sounds, swooning like little damsels in the air. 

"Girls," the Tooth-fairy sounded stern but was still giving Sherlock admiring looks. "Dignity!"

John frowned since he couldn't imagine Sherlock taking time out from his apparently busy schedule of not being dead to even go do something boring as buying a toothbrush. 

Also, John was already irritated over Bunny, would he have to keep an eye on Tooth now as well? And why did he even fell a need to keep an eye on any of them? John sighed. Sherlock ignored him.

"Now that we have the Mare..." he continued while glancing impatiently at John's progress with the tea "...we follow her to him."

"After your rest," John poured some tea into a large green mug decorated in red hearts and white snowflakes and placed it in front of Sherlock. "Or I will ask the Sandman to knock you out."

Sandy made a threatening gesture towards Sherlock that was totally ruined by the happy golden smile on his face. John sighed and poured a cup of tea for himself. It tasted heavily of cloves and ginger, but it did its calming job just fine.

"Let us all rest," suggested North, clapping his hands together. "We all need strength for later. I will come with you."


	9. While you are looking for darkness you must never forget the light you carry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are getting closer to finding Pitch, but there are still shadows in their way. John tries to explain the L-word to Sherlock and fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta Memprime who helps me who helps me when the autocorrect is messing with me or when my English fails me <3
> 
>  
> 
> PS. I think there's only 3-4 chapters left now :)

The Tooth-fairy hadn't been able to stay for long, she had some important duties to do, but she had left one of her little helpers behind with Jack. The tiny creature had made itself comfortable in the hood of Jack's hoodie. Jack called it Baby-Tooth and seemed very happy to have it with him. John thought it was female but wasn't sure, anyway it was both cute and unnerving. 

Sandy and Sherlock were away collecting the Mare, while the rest of them were waiting at the gates of the workshop. John was counting his messages. He had borrowed a charger from North, but so far the mobile hadn't done anything more adventurous than to spontaneously change the call-tone to a guitar-riff. 

He had managed to sleep for a couple of hours. He didn't know how Sherlock slept, but the man had not left the bed since John had forced him under the covers. John had slept next to him, over the covers, but he has still been warm from the closeness of his friend.

There hadn't been any nightmares this time. He wasn't up to speed with his children's legends but John suspected that the closeness to the Sandman had something to do with that. Not that he was a child, far from it. The conflicting feelings he had over Sherlock was proof enough. 

"His brother has tried to call me fifty-seven times now," sighed John. "And sent twenty-three messages. Nine with treats on my life. The last one was quite descriptive."

"Persistent," noted Bunny examining his claws and glancing at the smitten elf still sitting on his shoulder like a strangely coloured conical parrot. "Is this brother going to send some James Bond-bloke after you then?"

"There are probably agents scouring through the world as we speak," John looked around the icy planes outside the workshop. "Are you sure they can't find us here?"

"Of course I am sure," huffed North, adjusting the impressive sabres attached to his large belt. "Workshop has strong magic. Only children that really believe strongly can find their way here."

That made John, not for the first time, wonder how he and Sherlock could see the guardians. As far as he knew he had stopped believing in Santa when he was nine, and he never really fully believed in the rest of them, especially Jack Frost. Though he could admit to still feeling creeped out by some shadows in his teens, feeling like they were watching him. Was that belief in the Boogyman?

There was of course still the possibility that he had gone insane. Was he actually at this moment in a strait jacket, drugged up on medication, and under Mycroft's disapproving supervision? No, John shook his head at the disturbing image. This was the reality where Sherlock was alive, so it had to be real. The opposite was unbearable. 

"Where do you think Pitch is?" asked Jack.

"I don't know," John looked up at the spirit. "I guess he needs to hide in a place where he can gather his strength and take control of the shadows but at the same time stay away from too much of them so they don't overtake him. There must be thousands of places he could be."

"And I searched most of them," Jack sighed.

John rubbed his face and turned back to the phone. He debated on whether or not to answer one of Greg's worried messages. The Detective Inspector had left five so far. He decided to write a quick note saying that Sherlock was back, that John was with him, and that they were both fine. He pressed 'send' before he lost his nerve. 

There was suddenly a cold feeling of fear around his heart. First he thought that he had made a huge mistake in sending the message, but then noticed that it was the Night-Mare approaching. The mere presence of the beast must have woken several insecurities and fears inside him.

Sherlock was firmly holding the golden rope attached to the tether. He looked very pale and strained, but thankfully not as tired as before. He was wearing a pair of blue and white knitted mittens with intricate patterns, a gift from North that would hopefully make holding the Mare feeling a bit more like an adventure than a terror. The mittens looked a bit out of place on Sherlock, John thought it was kind of cute before he caught himself and looked away.

Sandy was in the air bobbing like a golden man-shaped balloon next to Sherlock. The Mare seemed to be wary of the round spirit, its red eyes following the dusts of dreamsand that floated around as Sandy moved.

John walked up to Sherlock.

"You all right?" 

"I can manage," Sherlock gave a brave smile. "She's not feeding as much at the moment since she's nervous. The mittens help. It feels a bit like the fear you feel just before jumping of…," He quieted abruptly.

John felt his guts tighten. 

Sherlock cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to another. His lips tightened slightly. The Mare looked at him, her ears twitching in interest. Sherlock was scared. John quickly reached out and grabbed his friend by the arm. 

"It's fine," he said, trying to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry. It's all fine."

Sherlock nodded slowly.

"We are ready?" asked North coming up to them followed by Jack and Bunny.

Sandy, who had been watching John and Sherlock awkwardly squirm, made a thumbs up. John took a deep breath and nodded. 

"How do we do this?" asked Jack, nervously rolling his staff between his hands. "Are we just going to let her go and follow her?"

"Basically," said Sherlock glancing to John but then looking around the icy landscape surrounding them. "But we need a good place to start from. I doubt that the Boogyman is hiding anywhere near here."

"Where're we going to start then?" Bunny crossed his arms, on his shoulder Dingle the lovesick elf imitated the movement. "I have nothing against taking a walk with you but just following the Mare around could take ages, and frankly speaking, mate, I have other fish to fry."

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock rolled his eyes indicating that even mythical beings could be slow minded. "Come on! Anyone? John?"

"You got me," John shrugged, though preparing himself for the answer being something amazingly simple.

Jack and Bunny shook their heads. Sandy and North looked curious. Dingle sneezed and then giggled. 

"North," Sherlock impatiently held out his free hand. "Give me a snow globe."

North fumbled a bit but then brought out a globe from the inner workings of his maroon coat. Sherlock took it and held it out the Mare as if he was offering her an apple. The Mare sniffed it carefully. Then with even more caution she nibbled the blank surface. The snow inside the globe suddenly became dark as ashes, whirling in a small storm around the small light in the centre. 

Sherlock then threw the globe against the wall surrounding the workshop. A large hole opened up. It was different from the portal that Jack had opened up in John's bedroom. First of it was famed by sparkles of both light and dark snow, and second it felt more ominous. John could see a dense, seemingly ancient, forest on the other side. It seemed to be daylight, but the trees were not letting much through. It held promise of adventure but also danger and fear.

"Genius," said North, leaning closer. "How you know to do that?"

"Simple," Sherlock tugged on the golden rope, pulling the Mare forward towards the opening. "Your globes have no outer mechanism, therefore the direction to them must be verbal, as was proven by how Jack used his to get me and John here in the first place. The fact that Jack could use it shows that the globes can be used by others. The Mare wants her master and so I simply let her tell the globe where she wanted to go. Quite elementary actually, I'm surprised you didn't think of it yourself."

"Sherlock," hissed John, not wanting North to feel insulted. "Behave." 

North just laughed his jolly laugh though and stepped through the portal after Sherlock and the Mare, followed by Jack and Sandy. John was about to step inside too when he turned to look back at Bunny.

The large rabbit had taken Dingle of his shoulder and placed the elf off the ground. He was kneeling on one leg before the little creature, giving him a kind smile.

"You stay here, you ankle-biter," he said, pulling out a yellow handkerchief from nowhere and wiping the elf's nose with it. "Don't get into too much trouble."

Dingle blew his nose loudly before taking the handkerchief and hugging it like a rag doll. Bunny laughed and got to his feet. He gave John a smile as he came join him by the portal. 

"He's a cute little blighter, my admirer," Bunny nudged John's side. "Though not as handsome as yours." 

"I don't have an admirer," huffed John passing through the portal. 

"Sure you have," Bunny laughed. "And you admire him right back. Trust me, I'm the spirit of Spring and Hope. Don't you think I feel these things? Besides, I got eyes haven't I?"

The circle of glittering snow and ash closed soundlessly behind them. John stood still, looking at Bunny as the creature hoped up to North and Jack who were discussing something with hushed voices. Exactly what could the Easter-bunny feel? Again John's knowledge in children's lore failed him. 

He looked over at Sherlock who was leaning his back against a tree. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing more heavily. Sandy was standing by looking curiously between the Mare and Sherlock. John hurried over.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, reaching up to feel the taller man's forehead. "You have a slight fever again."

"Intonation on slight," said Sherlock pushing John's hand away. "I'll be fine in a moment."

"Let me help you with the Mare. She's taking too much of you." 

"No," Sherlock pushed up off the tree. "I can handle it."

"Sherlock," John grabbed hold of his friend's coat collar. "You are going to let me help you this time, or so help me I'm going to prematurely hit you in the face, sick or not."

"I don't..." Sherlock faltered as he failed not to meet John's eyes. "I... I don't want you to suffer more for my sake."

"Love," John took the mitten from Sherlock's free hand and put it on his own. "I always suffer for your sake, why should this time be any different?"

Sherlock blinked. This time he most definitely would have heard the use of the L-word, but John pretended like it didn't matter. His heart beat a mile a minute though. He glanced to Sandy who was giving him a sweet dreamy smile. The spirit had clearly heard him as well.

As John wrapped his now mittened hand around Sherlock's on the tether he got a sudden feeling of vertigo. It reminded him of the moment before going into battle. The feeling of fear, excitement, and intrepid anticipation. He had to reach out to keep his balance, Sherlock caught his arm. The Mare neighed contently. John giggled, this was definitely one of those moments where he was questioning his sanity.

"You are just as sane as me," reassured Sherlock.

"Somehow that isn't comforting."

They smiled at each other. The old feeling of familiarity blossomed in John's chest. He was on an adventure, with Sherlock. John felt himself grinning like mad, Sherlock seemed to be feeling the same and responding in kind. His handsome face wrinkling up, not in his usual mocking gruesome false mask, but in an honest smile. John felt a bit lost in that smile. 

"Are you ready?" asked Jack coming up to them, Baby-Tooth buzzing around his head like an imitation of a quick speed moon. "North is saying that this forest is very old and that we should be careful."

"Let's go," nodded Sherlock. "The Mare will catch a scent soon enough. When she does, we'll let her go and follow."

"Where are we anyway?" John looked around. 

"Somewhere Eastern Europe," said Jack. "I'm not that good with countries and borders."

They started to walk. The ground was covered in moss, roots, old leaves, and small shrubs. Every step brought forward dirty water or mud under their feet. John felt a bit jealous of Sandy who could fly above it. The Mare didn't either seem to have any trouble; though she walked on the ground she didn't seem to put any weight on it.

After about ten minutes John felt a bit of fear that they weren't coming out the forest alive. Knowing that it was just the Mare giving him the creeps he turned to Jack to distract himself.

"Why aren't you flying?"

"Can't call on the wind in here," Jack grimaced as he stepped on a particularly wet patch. "Too many trees packed together."

"Oh," John glanced to Sandy who was floating next to North.

"He flies on dreams," informed Jack. "Haven't you ever dreamed that you are flying?"

"Not lately."

John didn't want to sound bitter, but he was. It had been a long time since he had dreamt about flying. Falling, that was usually the theme in John's dreams. Unless they were about blood, or his own failures. 

They didn't talk for a few minutes. Jack began creating frost on the trees as they passed them. It looked quite nice. John could feel Sherlock looking at him. The detective cleared his throat.

"About what you said..." 

"Oh god, I'm sorry I called you 'love', it just slipped out," John rambled. "It's just a word, you know. Like 'mate' or, or... 'dude'..."

"I meant that you said about you always suffer because of me..."

"Oh, that."

"'Dude'?"

"Shut up."

"Do you want me to leave after this is over?"

"Sherlock, I..."

John was cut off by the forest abruptly ending. They had stepped out to a road. It was a dirt road, but it was straight, broad and there were clear signs of it being used frequently. On the other side the forest continued, darker and more menacing than the side they just came out of. 

The Mare sniffed the air and turned slightly to look down the road. It seemed even darker further on that way. Again John felt an irrational fear coming over him. The adrenaline felt good in his veins. 

"Shadows are alive," said North thoughtfully, holding up a pink princess flash light to the dark. "We must be close. Resting now. But will be active soon, when the sun sets."

"Gives me the creeps," Bunny muttered. 

His ears twitched and he moved closer to Sherlock in a protective stance. John gave him a glare and tightened his hand possessively around Sherlock's on the tether. He was perfectly capable of protecting Sherlock himself. 

He looked at the shadows moving slowly between the trees. Who was he kidding?

"Are they guarding him or stalking him?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Jack looking around. "What do you think, Sherlock?"

Before Sherlock could answer they heard the sound of an engine. A small red van was heading their way from the darker part of the road. It was going quite fast. The group stood still, waiting for it to arrive. 

"They are running from something," said Sherlock slowly. "They are scared. Too scared to change gears in time."

"Well, that's a good sign," smiled Jack.


	10. When you finally find what you are searching for you may have to fight you keep it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shadows are closing in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting distracted by frostiron, damn you all good writers on this site making me forget to publish my chapters in time!
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta memprime who keeps me from using the letter H too often :)

The driver didn't seem to notice them standing there at first. Sherlock pulled the Mare, and subsequently John, closer to the edge of the road. Jack sent out a quick beam of frost from his staff that made the tyres lose traction with the ground. The van swayed to gain control. It screeched to a gravel-hauling halt almost hitting North and Sandy in the process. Neither of the spirits moved.

A middle-aged man in light-blue overalls came out from the van's driver side. He began screaming at John and Sherlock, making gestures to his head, the van and the way he had come from. John gathered that the man was very upset over something. 

He also realised that he was the only one of the party not understanding a word of what was said. Though from the gestures John interpreted that man thought him and Sherlock mad and should get the hell out of there.

The driver pointed at the van again while seemingly screaming abuse and making gestures meaning that they should get inside. Sherlock answered something that sounded like he politely declined the offer. John smirked, of course the tosser could speak the language.

The man looked at them as if they both had lost their minds, glanced down at their hands on the tether, shook his head, and murmured something that made Sherlock cringe slightly before going back to the van. He walked right through Bunny like the spirit was a ghost.

The van jumpstarted and sped off as fast as it could, taking no heed to the residue frost on the ground. 

"Hate it when that happens," shuddered Bunny. 

"We are definitely on the right track," said Sherlock looking down the darkened road.

"He walked right through you," John stared at Bunny, feeling his heart plummet in panic. "This is real right? You are here? We are here? I'm not going to wake up in a white room without..." He held his tongue but looked to Sherlock.

"I'm here, lofty," Bunny held out his paw and placing it firmly on John's shoulder. "So are the rest of us. Especially handsome there. That bloke was just an unbeliever, most adults are. He all he saw was you and Sherlock walking down a forest road holding hands."

"Holding...?" John looked down on his hand over Sherlock's.

"He did indeed only see the two of us," huffed Sherlock. "Judging by his appearance I believe he works at an partly abandoned mine station further down. It is plausible that couples often seek the place out for casual sex. He thought that we were on our way there.”

John felt himself blush full red. The thought of someone thinking that he and Sherlock... People had thought that before, John wasn't stupid, he knew the rumours far too well. But now, when John's own mind seemed to drift to the vicinity of that... that image, his heart beat a bit faster. 

"Are you all right, John?" asked Jack with a smirk. "You look a bit hot, do you want something to cool you down with?"

"Shut up," growled John.

North, Bunny and Sandy giggled slightly. Baby-Tooth looked out from Jack's hood and made a tiny 'aw'-sound. Sherlock seemed to ignore them all, thankfully.

"He was saying that the mines were haunted and that we should get out of here."

At that the Mare suddenly started to move forward. She sniffed the air repeatedly as she walked. She seemed so much more excited than a moment ago. Sherlock and John were dragged along with her automatically. The others followed. 

"I have a feeling I looked here before," said Jack.

"He probably moves around a lot ," noted Sherlock slowly, looking at the gathering darkness around them. "If the shadows are following him, and they are overwhelming him, I don't believe he can stay in one place for too long.”

John hesitated over the question he was about to ask, but felt that it had gone long enough. The event with Bunny just proved it. He turned to North, who was walking beside him, judging him the most trustworthy of their mythological company.

”How come we can see you?”

Sherlock huffed.

”You are asking this now? We have been with them for days…”

”I was in shock, Sherlock!” John glared at his friend. ”Still am, I believe. But I need to think more clearly now, if we are walking into some kind of danger, and I want to know. I can’t force myself to thinking being off my rocker just to accept what’s happening around me. That man walked right through Bunny for fuck’s sake! In my world that’s not right. I want to know how the most brilliant man I know believes in Jack Frost and Santa and has convinced me to do the same!”

It was a long speech but it was long overdue. John wanted greatly for this to be real. He liked the Guardians, even Bunny, and he would actually be quite sad if they were just a figment of his imagination. The Mare was still moving forward, taking them further down the road. 

”To tell the truth,” Bunny cleared his throat. ”I’ve been wondering a bit of the same thing. You are both a deal older than our usual believers. The few adults I meet that can see me I’ve either known since they were toddlers, or they are mad, or both.”

North and Sandy nodded in agreement. Jack seemed a bit thoughtful over this but did not disagree. Sherlock sighed.

”I told you this before, when we got the Mare. You know I hate repeating myself.”

”For me, Sherlock,” John rolled his eyes. ”Please just tell me!”

”If you disprove every likely explanation then what ever is left, however unlikely, must be the truth.”

”You have accepted you’re not mad then?” laughed Bunny.

”Perhaps I have.”

John frowned at this. Sherlock was a scientist, and North himself had said that the man had stopped believing in Santa before the age of seven.

”So you just looked at Jack and immediately thought the most unlikely thing about him, and now you believe in him?”

”In my defence I was suffering from fever and hypothermia, and had just been thrown out of a high speed moving vehicle in the middle of Siberia,” huffed Sherlock. ”Any kind of rescue seemed most unlikely at the time.”

”You wanted to believe that someone would rescue you,” nodded Jack. ”I can see that now. The first thing you said to me was ’please let me live’.”

The words struck John in the heart. They were the same words he himself had spoken back in Afghanistan when the sniper’s bullet had pierced his shoulder. The same words he had told Sherlock when his friend had asked him what his last words before dying would be. He glanced to Sherlock, who only met his eyes briefly before looking away. 

”Fine,” John swallowed and rubbed his face with his free hand. ”But what about me?”

”You believe in Sherlock,” said North with a kind smile. ”You are so willing to believe in him so much that his beliefs are yours as well.”

”This is so fucking weird,” sighed John. ”But I guess it’s the best explanation that I’m going to get.” 

They were reaching the end of the road and the forest. A large gorge opened up before them, like a quarry. There were some houses and structures built around openings to caves and tunnels, but none of them seemed to be in use. There were no vehicles around, nor any other sign of people. 

John could understand why the place could be a popular place to hide away for some secret sexual meeting. That was of course if the place at the moment didn't radiate such darkness and menace. it was early evening and the place was already darkening more than expected for the time of year. He understood why the man had been in such a hurry to leave. 

”We are definitely in the right place,” said Jack slowly. ”Though I don't like there being so many of the shadows. I would have thought he would have better control over them by now. Maybe we hurt him more than we thought.”

”Let’s better find him then.” grumped Bunny.

He took the pink princess flash light from North, who brought up a couple more from his vast pockets and distributed them. John got a small green one with a military camouflage pattern. 

”I’ll take John’s mobile,” said Sherlock when offered another princess light. ”I want to see what’s true and not what my imagination think is true.”

”In this case…” said North sadly ”…there is much truth in imagination.”

”Even so,” Sherlock held out his hand for John’s mobile.

”I loaded it with one of North’s chargers,” reminded John as he handed it over.

”The light is still man-made,” Sherlock punched in John’s code on the display, succeeding at the first try. ”Let go of the Mare, John. Let her lead for now.”

The Mare looked a bit surprised to be free. She stood still for a moment, stomping her hooves and sniffing the air. The golden band around her dark black head sparkled. Then she began walking towards the middle of the quarry, the shadows around them didn't seem like they were moving. 

Bunny shone his light on a cluster of darkness, but it only seemed to point out that it was exactly that, a cluster. Individual shadows without any casters were huddled together like they were waiting for something. Sherlock experimentally shone the mobile the same way, and there was only rock.

”I don’t know if the magic light is an advantage or not,” he said. ”It only fumes your fears and may agitate them.”

”One the other side,” said Jack. ”It lets us know if they are coming.” 

John didn't really have an opinion, he just kept his eyes on the Mare leading them on. She glanced back at him with her red eyes, like she was checking if he was following. Was that because she was suspicious, or because she wanted to bring her lost master a snack? She closed in on one of the smaller mine entrances. There was a small rail track on the ground, but no sign of a cart just yet. John felt a bit uneasy and his bare hand was freezing. 

”Are you doing that?” North asked Jack. ”The cold?”

”No,” answered Jack, fiddling with his staff in his hand. ”And I can't take it away either.”

Jack’s breath was the only one not coming out as a cloud of his mouth. John felt a hand encircle his bare hand, he looked to the side and saw it was Sherlock. 

”For warmth,” the detective said. 

John didn't answer but tightened the grip. Sherlock’s hand was slightly warmer than expected. John hoped the fever wasn't returning. He should have insisted on giving the man some more rest before they set off. If -when- they returned, he was going to insist on Sherlock eating something healthy and then going straight to bed. 

They continued walking down the tunnel after the Mare. Soon there was only the light from the flashlights leading their way. John tried to ignore the rush of fear and excitement coming through him at the sight of the shadows dancing in the stone walls. Sherlock had turned the mobile off to save the battery. 

The path was tilting continually downwards, but not so steeply that they had trouble walking. It was going to be a strain walking back up though, John thought. He glanced at Sherlock, who in the magic light almost looked esoteric. It was plain to see that the man was ill. John wondered what thoughts had haunted the man while holding on to the Mare. Hopefully the mitten had helped. 

Bunny was occasionally scratching the walls with his claws, probably to look at the digging techniques or something like that. For whatever reason he did not seem too impressed, though. The sound was a bit eerie in the closed dark space.

”Would you stop that,” hissed John. ”We have enough ambience as it is.”

”Sorry, mate,” Bunny removed his paw from the rock.

About five minutes of walking in silence later they reached a natural cave. It was beautiful with several pillars, stalactites, and stalagmites created by water droplets for hundreds, if not thousands of years. There were several obvious dugout places where mining had taken place and there was also an old cart on the end of the rail. 

”Is he here?” asked John looking around the dim cave. 

”I think we need to go further,” said Sherlock motioning at the Mare who was crossing the cave floor towards another dark opening. ”I believe we need to go as far as we can go. To the end of the system.” 

”Why would he put himself in a corner?” John frowned. ”If the shadows are following him wouldn't that be the worst place he could be?”

”He has stopped running,” Sherlock sounded complacent. ”He has given up, and he is waiting for them to take him. That’s why the shadows are denser, they are gearing up for their last attack.”

”Don’t say that,” Jack almost cried. ”Pitch would never give up. Never! He would fight. He will fight.”

”Has he got anything to fight for?” asked John knowing what is was like to be left without even a lost cause to hold on to.

Sherlock’s hand twitched in his. They were still holding hands, John thought in passing. 

The question went unanswered. They continued to follow the Mare into the even deeper darkness. Even the princess flashlights were struggling to penetrate the dark shadows now. Sherlock lit John’s mobile, the small light worked just fine. It must have been a very unimaginative person who had made it. 

This tunnel was more natural than the last one, but it had been broadened in places by pickaxes. John briefly wondered what they had been mining in a place like this. He was distracted by a sudden drop in temperature. 

”It’s still not me,” said Jack without being asked. 

”It’s not cold,” said Sherlock slowly.

”What are you talking about?” John blew out a steamy breath. ”It’s freezing. I can feel you shivering.”

”I’m not shivering from cold, John,” Sherlock turned to him, his face pale and his pupils blown. ”I’m scared. I haven't been this scared since I was eight and fell into an old well, and Mycroft tried to save me, but then he also fell and hit his head and he wouldn't wake up…” 

There were tears running down his cheeks. He breathed hard, close to panic. John did the only thing he could think of. He embraced his friend tightly, leaning Sherlock’s head to his shoulder. The tall man curled down around him. Damp breaths moved over the skin on John’s neck, shaking arms coming round his torso. 

”He wouldn't wake up… We were down there for over two hours in the dark before the police dogs found us…” 

”It’s all right now,” soothed John. ”Mycroft is safe and is currently sending me multitudes of death threats.”

”It’s not cold,” whispered Sherlock, sounding a bit more collected but still shaky. ”It’s fear.”

”He’s right,” said Jack. ”Look.”

John and Sherlock both turned, still holding on to each other, and saw what the frost spirit was inciting. 

Cats, huge cats. Large slick black panthers with sharp teeth and eyes the colour of fire. John felt that he should be scared but his concern for Sherlock took precedence. Without thinking he pushed his friend behind him, blocking the beast from getting to the man with his own body. 

He noted North pulling his sharp sabres and Bunny going into combat stance. The princess flashlights were on the ground. 

”Fearlings,” said Jack, his staff running over with frost.


	11. For as long as I can remember I have had this fear of freezing your heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness are closing in and John gets protective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters take longer and longer to write even though I know what is going to happen.   
> Well, anyway, here's another one :)
> 
> Thanks to Memprime who sees things thai I don't.

”What are they?” asked John.

”Fearlings,” answered North. ”Not like Mares, not like Shadows, in-between creatures. Mostly hide under bed, old houses, and wardrobe. They are often mistaken for being ghost.”

”Oh…” 

”Real ghost is nicer though,” added North in a helpful tone. ”Ghost will not rip your neck out.”

”Ah…” 

Sandy nodded in serious agreement, showing a generic image of a ghost in a sheet looking happy. Apparently the sandman liked ghosts. 

The panther-shaped Fearlings let the Mare calmly pass them into the darkness behind without even flinching a whisker at her. John could feel Sherlock mutter a ’huh’ against his shoulder. John pushed Sherlock behind him, slowly backing away so the three spirits were in the first line of defence. 

”What are they waiting for?” Bunny’s nose twitched nervously, his toes stirring as preparing for a jump. 

”They are for defense,” said Sherlock, placing a now much steadier hand on John’s shoulder. ”Not offense.”

The man was overcoming his fears again. A chance to show his brilliance always did that to Sherlock. John almost smiled at the familiar feeling it gave him. But he was also aware that this mood in his friend could get them into a lot of trouble. Sherlock was still wearing the boots, they would probably inspire the genius to do something stupid. Like walking up to the panthers and petting them, like Sherlock had done with the yetis. John took hold of Sherlock’s sleeve just to be sure the man stayed put. 

”What does that mean?” Jack frowned at the fearing baring its sharp teeth at him.

”That these creatures are still loyal to the Nightmare King,” Sherlock managed to walk forward even with John holding on to his arm, his former crisis suddenly gone. ”They are clearly protecting him. They let the Mare through.”

”Sherlock,” growled John. ”Are you out of your mind? Please, stop moving!”

”Did it just get darker in here?” Bunny looked around, his rabbit-eyes clearly more sensitive to light.

Sandy held up a candle shape made of his sand, the whole thing speed a steady golden light around them. It was dampened slightly by shadows closing in from the main cave.

The Fearlings began hissing, their fiery eyes burning harder. John swallowed, chasing away memories of nightmares and dark thoughts. He had a sudden horrific flashback of his sister being stomach-pumped after an alcohol poisoning a couple of years ago. He shook his head and kept his grip on Sherlock. The taller man had thankfully stopped, if it was because of John’s plea or something else, he was not sure.

”The Shadows from outside are closing in,” Jack bit his lip. ”What are we going to do?”

”Isn’t is obvious?” Sherlock looked the frost spirit over as if measuring him for battle. 

”Just tell us what to do, Handsome.”

Bunny had slowly moved closer to John and Sherlock putting himself in a better position to protect their human non-magic bodies. John was both grateful and a bit irritated over this. Though the former outweighed the latter, especially when Sherlock’s safety was also on the line. 

”We fight the shadows,” Sherlock pointed back to where they had come from. ”We show the Fearlings that we are on their side. That we’re protecting their king.”

The spirits looked at each other. Baby-Tooth shrugged and made a little chirping ’why not’-sound. That seemed to be enough for the others to agree. Sandy nodded, enthusiastically dislodging a cloud of golden dust from his hair.

North, Sandy, and Jack turned around facing the entrance, their backs to the Fearlings. Bunny stood his ground, watching his friends’ backs and protecting John and Sherlock. John noticed how the taught back muscles tensed and moved under the soft grey fur. Bunny’s long ears were taught like bowstrings. 

Sherlock tugged John closer to the wall. 

”John and I will try to go further in,” he said. ”We will try to establish contact with Pitch.”

”We will?” John blinked. ”What about…?”

”We are humans, John,” Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently ”These things, as well as the King, feeds on human fear. To them we are just food packages. They will let food through for sure.”

”How delightful,” John irritatingly elbowed his friend in the hip. ”I was actually going to ask you about your little breakdown back there. Are you okay to do this?”

”Hold my hand, John.” Sherlock held out his hand without the mitten.

John frowned but took the offered hand. Sherlock’s skin was chilled and the fingers a bit rough after years of chemical experiments. Even so John felt encouraged by the contact. He smiled as Sherlock intertwined their fingers. 

”I’m fine now,” said Sherlock.

Their hands tightened together. John felt himself blush and smile like a madman. For a short moment he didn't even want hit Sherlock in the face. 

”Sorry to interrupt,” Jack called over his shoulder. ”But the Shadows are coming.”

”Go,” Bunny narrowed his yellow eyes to the oncoming threat that only his sharp eyes could see. ”Go now.”

Sandy gave Sherlock the shining candle shaped sand and formed a four-leaf clover over his head. ’For Luck’ seemed to be the message. Before John could oppose Sherlock had dragged him along the wall towards the Fearlings. 

Their hands were tightly linked, and the grip hardened as they came closer. John felt his legs start to prickle. His throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. He could feel sweat run down his back and his forehead. Images of Sherlock’s body on the sidewalk flashed before his eyes. Blood…

Suddenly his fear was replaced with resolution. This was not happening again. He refused to let it. Sherlock was back with him and that was where he was going to stay. John would not accept any other way. 

Another image crept upon him: himself on that bridge readying to jump into the dirty water of the Thames. He saw it like he had seen it in the newspaper the next day. A lonely broken man, but with a strange half-witted smile on his lips, lost in the memory of lost words from a lost friend. 

”No,” he whispered with clenched teeth. ”Fucking no.”

”John?” Sherlock looked back at him, the fever was back in his eyes.

”It’s just fear, Sherlock,” John walked past Sherlock, now pulling the taller man with him. ”It’s made to be accepted and be worked past.”

”My soldier,” Sherlock gave a little huff of laughter. 

”You bet I am!”

They moved passed the Fearlings. The beasts didn't seem to mind them, actually it was almost like they were avoiding them. John hoped it was because of his bravery and not because he and Sherlock were potential food for their master. 

Darkness closed in on them as they followed the Mare’s path deeper inside the mine. Sherlock held up the sand light to light their way, even if it didn’t do so much for the dense darkness. John figured it was because the mobile would just shine through whatever they were looking for. He felt fear nibble on his conscious but he ignored it for the feel of Sherlock’s hand in his. 

”We are close,” Sherlock whispered. ”I can feel the Mare again.”

John was going to ask him how he could feel that when…

”ICE IN THE HOLE!” a scream sounding like Jack echoed through the tunnel.

The next moment he was embraced by Sherlock, pushing their bodies against the stone wall. A huge storm cloud of frost and powered ice roared past them like debris from an explosion. The cold on his face was like dipping his face in ice-water. John pressed his forehead into Sherlock’s chest, with their wrapped hands trapped between them, and he could feel a sharp cheekbone push hard against the top of his head. 

”What the fuck?” John looked around, everything was covered with a thin layer of snow. 

”Jack seems to be defending us from the Shadows,” Sherlock shook some frost out of his hair. ”Let’s find his boyfriend before he does that again.”

”Let’s,” John nodded.

The tunnel was getting more narrow. It was now all natural, there were no signs of pickaxes anywhere. The floor was uneven and a large stalagmite stood partly in their way before they could reach the deepest part. Moisture would be flowing down the walls if not everything was frozen. 

There stood the Mare, her head tilted down into the pale arms of a thin man. 

The man held a strange resemblance to Sherlock. Both were tall and thin, their hair dark and falling with locks over their handsome, tired, and intelligent, faces. John could understand Jack’s attraction to the man, at least the physical part.

But where Sherlock’s skin told more of a recent illness, the Nightmare King’s pale skin was bordering to being a natural grey. He was dressed in a long black robe, same colour as the darkness around him and the Mare, who he was whispering sweet nothings to. 

He looked up as John and Sherlock approached. His eyes were yellow, like something that would shine out of the night around a campfire near a lion-safari. Or like the jackals John remembered from the deserts of Afghanistan. 

”You can see me?” Pitch’s voice had, surprisingly enough, an eloquent British tone to it. 

”We can,” nodded Sherlock. ”My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend John Watson. I’m a consulting detective and I’ve been hired to find you.”

”Did you bring her?” Pitch patted the Mare’s nose, and she neighed contently.

”She brought us,” Sherlock smiled.

”Clever girl.”

”Mr Black…” 

Sherlock was interrupted by another warning scream about ’ice in the hole’ from the tunnel behind them. Again John was pressed against Sherlock, hiding his face from the sudden rushing cold. The Mare huffed in irritation as she protected the Nightmare King from the onslaught of frost and ice. 

”I don’t have to guess who else you brought with you,” smirked Pitch. ”Are they here to finish me off? Quite unnecessary, I’m already done for. They just have to sit back and take care of the remains.”

”You are mistaken, Mr Black,” John took a step forward. ”It was Jack Frost who hired Sherlock because he wanted to save you.”

Pitch blinked his yellow big cat eyes in confusion. He eyed John, and his grip on Sherlock’s hand and then to the sand light in his other. He blinked again. The Mare pushed him slightly with the side of her head. 

”S-save me?”

”Yes,” John smiled at the King of Nightmares. ”He cares for you.”

”But- But he denied me… Why would he?” 

The lonely sorrow in the dark spirit’s eyes was heartbreaking. John recognised it as one he had seen in the mirror to many times in the last year. Then Pitch’s look hardened to one of anger.

”Pity,” he huffed and turned away with a flair of his robe. ”Of course. Well, you can go right back and tell him that I don’t want any of it.”

”You are mistaken, Mr Black,” said Sherlock calmly. ”Jack Frost is very much infatuated with you. You just had the wrong tactic of requiring him back then.”

”’Requiring’?” Pitch frowned even more this time. ”What the devil are you talking about, human?”

At that point a Fearling panther ran up to Pitch, rubbing itself against his leg. It was missing the right one of its bright eyes, though it was impossible to see if the eye was gone or just filled with darkness. Pitch made a sad sound.

”I told you not to bother, my sweet,” he patted the beast lovingly. ”You need to tell your brothers and sisters to flee.”

The beast growled in protest.

”Why are the Shadows attacking you?” asked John. ”I thought you were their king.”

”They don’t like to be ruled,” Pitch was examining the Fearling’s non-existent eye. ”A weak king is an easy target. And if you don't wish to be a part of that target, I suggest you leave now, humans.”

”Kind of hard,” shrugged Sherlock. ”Our exit is blocked. Our best chance are the Guardians getting to us.”

Pitch’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

”How many of them are out there?” 

”All except the Tooth-fairy,” Sherlock answered. ”Though she sent representation.” 

”A baby-tooth against a Shadow isn't much representation,” huffed Pitch, rising to his full length. ”Anyway, the Guardians are only here because of guilt and pity, I will not be a part to clear their consciences.”

Again John wanted to protest, but he was interrupted. The Guardians themselves, accompanied by several Fearlings rushed into the cave. They looked tired, even more so in the dim light their princess lights managed to create. North’s sabres were dripping with a strange black substance. 

Sandy lashed out a long golden whip against the following darkness. The Shadows retreated somewhat but not far, and not for long.

Jack was being half-carried by Bunny. 

”I got one more in me,” breathed the frost spirit. ”I can do it.”

”Save it as long as you can,” Bunny looked over to Sherlock. ”You all right, Handsome? You’re not looking peaky there.”

”I’ll manage,” Sherlock’s hand around John’s tensed.

John could feel the heat radiating from the man. Bunny’s sharp eyes must have seen something John had missed in the dark. 

”We need to get out of h…” Jack caught sight of Pitch. ”We found you!” 

”Yes,” sneered Pitch. ”Now please un-find me.” 

Jack was seemingly not listening to the hostile tone in the Nightmare King’s voice. The frost spirit just let go of Bunny, rushed forward, and embraced Pitch around the waist. The pure shock in Pitch’s could probably rivaled John’s when he found the not-dead Sherlock in his bed. 

Then all hell broke loose, if hell was nothing but darkness.


	12. When it is time to wake up you must help me find you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock get separated, and a confused brother makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only have the last chapter to write now (chapter 14), maybe there will be a short epilogue as well... 
> 
> Thank you Memprime for finding all those extra H's, you think I should have learned by now...

John was brutishly pushed to the ground and felt terror as Sherlock’s hand was pulled from his. He rolled expertly to his side and got to his feet. He felt the need to find Sherlock again, but he also knew to keep a cool head. With all the fear-inducing things around it was the only reasonable thing to do.

He could hear the others fighting. There were hints of light coming through the darkness from time to time. Blue thunderbolts shot out from Jack’s staff, golden sparkles from Sandy, and occasional glints from the princess-lights in the hands of North and Bunny. 

A flash of golden light suddenly exploded like a strong flare. In the intense shine John caught sight of Sherlock stabbing the sand-candle, like it was a dagger, into the Shadows. Sherlock looked fierce. There was an eerie howling sound like a distant wounded animal.

John was pushed again but this time it was by a Fearling jumping before him, protecting him from an onslaught of Shadows. Or, rather they were protecting Pitch who was right behind him. He fell towards the dark spirit, knocking them both to the ground. The touch was icy and skin-prickling. 

Pitch gave him a glare rivaling to one of Sherlock’s worst. It clearly said: ’leave me alone or you’ll be sorry’. Too bad for Pitch that John had learned to ignore those looks a long time ago. 

”Listen to me,” he said in his best doctor-voice to the almost not visible pretense beside him. ”We need to get out of here, and you have to shape up! If the Shadows are like that when you are weak, I don’t want to know how they are like when you are gone!”

”Not my problem,” huffed the Nightmare King. 

”Well, It’s going to be his problem,” John pointed at Jack, or at least the frost-lightning flashing in the dark. ”He’s going to be left behind. And believe you me being left behind really sucks.”

He could hear Sherlock gasp not far away from him. Well, good, the prick needed to hear it. 

”We can't hold them!” North breathed hard, the sound of his sabers shushing through the air. ”Jack! Do it again!”

”The humans are too close!” gasped Jack. ”I’ll burn them.”

”Do it!” said Sherlock calmly.

”No!” shouted John.

”John!” called North. ”Catch!”

An orb of bright white light lit up the dark like a low-energy lightbulb. North’s long white beard was visible in the strange light. John caught the orb with one hand. It was a snow-globe, it sparkled in his hand. Pitch huffed in distain.

”What…” John turned the globe in his hand. 

”Take it and leave!” called North, still doing his best at fighting the Shadows. 

A portal was opening up behind John, sparkling snow and frost. He and Pitch started falling through it.

”Sherlock!” John felt panic grab his heart, he couldn't leave him again.

”Don’t worry, mate,” said Bunny. ”I’ll take care of him.”

”John!” Sherlock’s suddenly voice sounded like he was falling down a hole.

”Bunny! You fucking bastard!” screamed John. ”You bring him back right now!”

There was a strong scent of lily of the valley on a spring breeze filling the cave, 

”They’re gone,” muttered Pitch.

”Go now!” yelled Jack. ”ICE!”

A great thunderbolt of frost and coldness exploded dispelling the Shadows. Both John and Pitch were pushed backwards through the portal by the power of the blast. John felt the air leave his lungs as the pressure around him fell. 

He landed on hard on his back on some kind of carpeting. His whole body hurt and there was a layer of cold snow covering his face. There was a thump and some constructive cursing beside him. The voice wasn't Sherlock’s.

”What the actual fuck?” John swore, feeling his head spin as he sat up. ”Bunny stole Sherlock! That Aussie prick!” 

John could hear Pitch give bitter laugh. He looked to the dark spirit, The black hair was tussled over the gray face obscuring the yellow cat-eyes. He didn't look that happy to be there. John knew how he felt.

”If you don’t mind…” a posh voice above him asked. ”Who did you say stole Sherlock?”

John turned his head to the side, seeing a pair of expertly polished shoes and the tip of an umbrella. With a sigh he looked up, following the expensive suit up to Mycroft’s face. 

”The Easter Bunny,” he said with a smirk. 

They were in the Baker Street flat, the living room no less. John must have set the snow-globe’s destination when he called out Sherlock’s name. 

”You are quite hilarious, aren't you,” said Mycroft while placing the sharp tip of the umbrella against John’s chest. ”Now I’ll only ask you once again… Where is my brother?”

He heard the cocking of a gun behind him. Mycroft was not alone, not that John expected him to be. 

John looked away, shaking his head in disbelief. He glanced to Pitch. The dark spirit gave him a humorless sharp smile and then turned away, looking towards a dark corner of the room. 

”Who is your friend?” 

”Sir?” said the man with the gun behind them, clearly not seeing Pitch.

”Oh, don’t mind me,” said Pitch. ”I’ll soon be leaving,”

”Like hell you are!” yelled John grabbing hold of Pitch’s robe. ”We were hired to find you and now that you are here I’ll be damned if you leave before I can hand you over to Jack!”

”Hand me over to Jack?” Pitch’s voice almost squealed, ”Who do you think you are, Human? And by that, who do you think I am?” 

Pitch rose to his feet, John’s hand still gripping his robe. The dark sprit seemed to grow as he starched. His yellow eyes burned like the ones of the Fearlings. The room seemed to darken as he took a couple of deep breaths. There was a distant sound of horses’ hooves and panthers’ claws. John’s heart started to beat faster, and he could feel the man with the gun take a few steps backwards.

”Who are you?” asked Mycroft.

His calm tone was showing no fear, though John noticed that the grip on the umbrella had hardened. and what was even more spectacular, Mycroft could actually see Pitch. Which, John concluded, probably meant that Mycroft’s dreams at night weren't that calm either.

”I am the Boogyman, The Nightmare King. I am Pitch Black. The Lord of Shadows, the…”

Pitch cut himself off. John could see a drop of realization dawn on the pale spirit’s face. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with the furious display. Apparently when you had grown up with Sherlock Holmes for a younger brother there was not much that could impress you anymore. 

”And you are Jack’s if you want him,” reminded John, just to make sure that this important point didn't get lost.

Pitch stared down at him for a moment. Again John was stricken with the Boogyman’s likeness to Sherlock. Mycroft must have noticed too because the man shifted slightly, the first sign of real unease he had shown so far. And, John thought, Mycroft must have seen him and Pitch fall into the flat through an ice-gate of some kind.

”It’s just pity on his side,” Pitch said slowly, looking away towards the dark corner again but now with more interest. ”You are only a human. You don't understand…”

”Now you just hang on a goddamned minute…,” John’s grip around the dark robe tightened as he rose to his feet. 

John not understanding? That was a laugh and a half. Hadn’t he lived the last year in grief and self-blame? How dared this fucking dark spirit, who by the way could control nightmares, tell John that he didn't understand? 

”That’s it,” growled John and punched Pitch in the face, some of his frustration over Sherlock was clearly in there as well, but it only further served to get his point across. 

”Doctor…” gasped Mycroft.

”Shut up, Mycroft!” John hissed in anger, still focused on Pitch. ”What the fuck do you mean that I don't understand?” 

The blood running down from Pitch’s nose was actually black, like water from a dark pool. A coldness, not unlike the one John felt at Sherlock’s ’death’ began spreading around his heart. Pitch’s eyes glowered with red and fire. John stood his ground. 

”You hit me?!” Pitch hissed dangerously while showing a row of sharp teeth. ”You dare to strike the Nightmare King?”

”Then act like the damn Nightmare King!” screamed John to the spirit’s face. ”I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but at the moment you are the only link I have to Sherlock and I’ll be damned if I let you go before I get him back!”

”You will be damned, will you?” Pitch growled. ”Happy to be of service.”

The next moment John had a bony hand on each side of his face. His eyes were forced up to meet the burning orbs glaring back at him. He felt like he was falling into those fiery pits and to darkness. 

But there was no darkness, there was Sherlock. Sherlock dead, returning, smiling, bleeding, sulking, laughing, screaming, leaving, sulking, falling, sleeping, cuddling, dying, playing, watching John. And there was John, ever watchful, ever by Sherlock’s side, because hell would twice freeze over, John would never let him leave him alone again. 

From a far John could hear Mycroft’s voice calling, or rather vividly protesting. 

Then the grip around his face was suddenly lost. John’s legs crumbled and he sat down on the floor so fast his butt hurt. Mycroft moved away from him, clearly still not impressed with anything, though obviously curious on how this would turn out.

”I…” Pitch sounded regretful, but then cleared his throat to a more serene tone. ”I see that I don't have to give you more bad dreams, you have taken very good care of that for yourself. I am impressed.”

”Thanks, I guess,” John rubbed his neck. 

”Don’t thank me,” Pitch turned to the dark corner again, tilting his head. ”They are coming…”

The Shadows, thought John. 

He glanced at Mycroft who had positioned himself close to the door, the tall man’s eyes were on Pitch. The agent, with the gun now put away, stood next to him, seemingly very confused over what his boss was looking at, and who John was talking to. 

”So Mycroft?” John smirked. ”Have nightmares often?”

”Every night,” said Pitch never looking away from the menacing dark corner, which seemed to be getting darker by the second. ”I can feel it boiling under his skin.”

Mycroft clinched his schooled face for a moment, John almost felt sorry for him, almost. 

Then two large black Fearlings in the form of a panthers with sharp teeth emerged from the dark corner, followed by the Mare. The three dark animals walked up to Pitch, pressing against him as searching for comfort from their master. The Nightmare King let his pale hands run over their furs as he greeted them thoughtfully. There seemed to be a lot on his mind, at least more than the depression they had found in him before. 

Neither Mycroft or his agent seemed to be able to see them, the two men would probably have screamed if they had. Mycroft probably saw Pitch caress the air, while the agent saw nothing at all. John wondered which of the two men were more confused. 

John stared at the beasts. If possible they were even more intimidating in the daylight since they were like shadows with nothing there to cast them. Plus the creatures were in his living room, that was probably the most disturbing thing of all.

”Dr. Watson,” Mycroft said slowly, waking John from his thoughts. ”I am usually a very patient man, but…”

He was interrupted by a large ice-portal opening up in the ceiling, and then Jack Frost and Santa Claus falling down through it to the floor. Jack managed to do half a flip with the help of his staff and land on his knees and one hand. North broke the coffee table.

”Huff!” said the large man, rubbing his back. ”Miscalculation in snow globe. Never jump from cliff again.” 

”Good Lord,” Mycroft stared at the broken table, his agent drawing his gun in it. ”What was that?”

”Come on,” laughed Jack. ”That was fun! John!”

”Jack!” John was hurrying forward to help North to his feet. ”Have you seen Sherlock? Bunny took him.”

”Then he should be in good hands.” 

”That’s just what I’m worried about,” murmured John.

”I’m sure they are on their way,” Jack looked around and caught sight of Pitch. ”HI!”

”Leave me alone, snowflake,” grumbled the dark spirit, turning away from them.

Mycroft was using his umbrella to poke at the remains of the coffee table. He was clearly not seeing the large Christmas spirit standing right next to him. That too John found a bit sad. North looked at Mycroft and shook his head. 

”I see he never got bicycle he wanted as child,” he shook his head. 

John couldn't imagine Mycroft as a child, and he didn't want to, with or without a bicycle. For the moment he only cared about Sherlock and where the man could be. He knew that Bunny would protect Sherlock, but who would protect Sherlock from Bunny? Not that he really believed that Bunny would do something untoward towards Sherlock, the guy was the Easter bunny for fuck’s sake, but the thought still picked the back of John’s brain.

”What happened?” he asked to distract some of the thoughts.

”Did Sherlock do any experiments on termites that I didn't know of?” asked Mycroft, still poking around at the splinters on the floor, seemingly ignoring that John was probably talking to himself.

”Jack froze Shadows with his staff,” North looked over to Jack who was fruitlessly trying to catch Pitch’s attention by waving said staff in front of the unimpressed spirit’s face. ”We ran, but came to deep cavern. I threw down snow globe to find you and we jump.”

”Where’s Sandy?” 

”He went other way,” North shook his head. ”I did not see where.”

”Dr. Watson,” Mycroft looked straight through North’s side. ”I don't know who you think you are talking to but I got half a mind to send agent Johnson out for a strait jacket.”

A disturbed memory of a bad dream flushed through John at that. He noticed Pitch glancing over at him. John wouldn't be surprised if the sprit it could sense his every thought. 

”Doctor Watson!” repeated Mycroft more harshly. 

”Sir!” called the agent, pressing an earpiece in his ear. ”Your brother’s outside.”

””What?” both John and Mycroft turned to the agent. 

”Your driver says he…” the agent frowned while his listened ”…he came out of a hole opening up in the middle of the road.”

John hadn’t time to react before a flock of Shadows erupted from the dark corner of the room.


	13. If give thee to darkness then come with me to keep me company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is a manipulative bastard and Sherlock has a bright idea.

”The Shadows!” screamed Jack. ”They have found us!”

He was holding up his staff against then onslaught. It was keeping the shadows at bay with high crackles of electric ice, but it was clear that Jack was losing power fast, even with North coming up behind him to help push back. Sweat formed icicles on both of them. North’s beard was freezing, long strands were breaking off and falling on the floor. 

Pitch just stood back and calmly looked at them. The Mare was equally unaffected, seemingly content just to be with her master. The Fearlings looked like they wanted to join in the fight but were obviously held back by Pitch’s obvious surrender. 

John sighed through gritted teeth. He felt so helpless and it filled him with fear. He really thought he had gotten through to Pitch with all that talk of ’you are the Shadow King’. It had clearly affected the dark spirit, but hadn't been enough to throw him away from the edge of resignation. 

Making a new effort he shook away the fear, it had become almost a second nature to him by now. In the back of his mind he was quite impressed with himself. 

”Aren’t you going to help them?” he screamed at Pitch, gesturing to Jack and North. ”They are bloody fighting for you, you bastard!”

”They don't have to,” Pitch crossed his arms and put his haughty nose in the air. ”I have never asked them to do so.”

The bastard was really as bad as Sherlock, he was going to kill himself out of pure stubbiness of not wanting to ask for help. 

Jack gave a sudden whimper, his power running dangerously low. A couple of Shadows escaped the blockage and came hurling into the room. The Fearlings couldn't be held back anymore and rushed forward to defend their king. Pitch bit his lower lip.

At the same moment Sherlock ran into the flat, he immediately caught John by the waist and hauled them both towards the kitchen, away from danger. John wrapped his arms around his friend, Sherlock smelled of fresh earth and periwinkle, he basically smelled like Bunny, but John didn't mind because Sherlock was back.

”Are you all right?” asked Sherlock taking John’s face between his hands, one still mittened, and looking into his eyes. 

”Y-yes,” stammered John, for a moment forgetting the battle taking place in their living room. 

”Sherlock!” 

”Oh bugger off, Mycroft!” growled Sherlock without looking away from John. ”John, where’s my lab equipment? I assume you didn't throw it out while I was gone.” 

”Your closet,” John breathed. 

”Thanks, Love,” Sherlock winked and hurried away towards his room. 

John took a steadying breath. Had he heard that right? An obvious silly smile was spreading over his face, it felt strange and it hurt a little, but he didn't care. 

He looked to Mycroft standing in the doorway looking very irritated. A large shadow was towering over the man from behind, black fangs, black eyes, black claws, black ooze dripping from its black lips. The agent lay passed out on the floor, Mycroft didn't seem to have noticed. John reacted on instinct.

Running forward, he tackled Mycroft to the ground, and marginally escaping the monster bearing down on them. They slid on the floor, bumping into the fireplace. John right wrist got trapped between Mycroft and the floor and felt it twist. He grunted in pain. 

”What in hell do you think you are doing?” yelled Mycroft, pushing John off him. 

John ignored him and crawled, with the help of his good hand, over to the agent. The man was unconscious, or rather sleeping. The man’s eyes were moving rapidly and his body was twitching. Nightmares, bad ones for sure, 

”What’s wrong with him?” demanded Mycroft. 

Before John had time to open his mouth, Sherlock strode into the room on long legs with his gaslight in his hand. It lit up the dark room like a beacon. When had it become this dark? 

”John!” said Sherlock. ”Fire! Fight them with fire!”

”Right!” 

John stumbled to his feet, leaving the agent to Mycroft’s care, or lack of care in this case. The room was completely dark except for an area around Sherlock and his burner, and a couple of terrifying yellow eyes glowing in its flickering shine.

There was a stash of lighters on one of the boxes in the nearest bookshelf. The days after Sherlock’s death John had gone around the flat finding cigarettes and lighters in the strangest places. He had crumbled and thrown away all the cigarettes, but kept the lighters. He had also found a small bag of a white powder, but it had gone down the loo two seconds later.

”ICE!” screamed Jack from the vicinity of the sofa.

”No!” screamed North’s and Bunny’s voices in unison.

The biting cold rushing through the room was more painful than before, probably because this time John didn't have Sherlock to bury his face to. The wind pushed the box of lighters making them fall out all over the floor. 

Sherlock’s light went out. 

For a moment there was only light from Jack’s staff. Blue light that chased away shadows but also all warmth in the room. In the brief seconds of illumination John could see Jack falling to the ground. He also saw North chopping away at a disappearing shadow with his sabers and Bunny baring his claws and sharp teeth. Mycroft was looking worriedly at Sherlock who was protecting his eyes against the sudden light. The flat was covered in ice. 

The normal light came back. It was going to be a short respite the shadows wouldn't be gone for long now that Jack had exhausted himself. John scrambled for the lighters, swearing over the pain in his wrist. He got hold of three lighters before getting to his feet. 

”Sherlock” he said and threw one of them to his friend.

Sherlock caught the lighter in the air with one hand without looking and lit up the burner all in the same smooth movement. John threw the next lighter to North.

”Light every candle you can find,” he said. ”There are some more in the kitchen in the cupboard over the fridge.”

”Why?” asked Bunny, he was holding an unsteady Jack to his fury chest. 

”Fire,” said Sherlock, ignoring his brother’s confused looks. ”It’s light, but like the flashlight from North’s shop it’s not made by humans. Just like a campfire creating a feeling of safety for humans of all ages.”

”You are genius,” grinned North, lighting the three block-candles on the side-table. 

”Of course,” Sherlock huffed. 

Bunny helped Jack to sit down on the sofa before going to the kitchen in search of more candles. John hunched down at the fireplace to get a fire started. It wasn’t easy with the wrist, but he managed to build a good pile of paper and wood. He swore again over the pain as he forgot himself and lit the lighter with the injured hand.

”John,” Sherlock came down beside him. ”You are hurt.”

”Just a twisted wrist,” John smiled comfortingly. ”It’s nothing serious.”

”Here,” Sherlock took some of the ice from the floor and held it to John’s wrist, and it felt good. 

John noticed Pitch seating himself down next to Jack on the sofa, though still making sure that there was a good distance between them. Jack was cradling his head in his lap. Baby-tooth was in his hair, cozying up to it and making cooing noises. Pitch looked both conflicted and sad.

”We are not going to make this,” sighed John, leaning his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder. ”The only way out is to persuade Pitch to fight.”

”Hmm,” agreed Sherlock.

”Can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” 

The curse in Mycroft’s voice sounded like all the death-threats in John’s texts combined. It was the voice of a very powerful man who just about had had enough and was contemplating breaking protocol and use his diplomatic immunity just to be able to strangle somebody with his bare hands. Even Sherlock twitched at the sound of it.

”Well…” Sherlock hesitated, suddenly looking like a scolded little boy.

John noticed how the Mare was stepping closer to them, she was feeling Sherlock’s fear. Mycroft was waiting for an answer, his mouth a thin line of impatience. Sherlock’s body tensed even more. The Fearlings smelled the air, even Pitch looked away from Jack to Sherlock. 

”Core fear,” said the dark spirit with a sad smile. 

”Fear that other fear is based on,” nodded North, holding the lighter awkwardly in his hands.

”Sherlock…” warned Mycroft slowly not releasing eye contact. ”You will explain yourself now!”

”I…” Sherlock breathed. 

”Mycroft,” hissed John, embracing his trembling friend. ”Cut it out!”

”You don’t…” Mycroft’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the floor in a limp pile.

Behind him, with an outstretched arm, stood Sandy with a large grin. 

”Good timing, mate,” said Bunny. ”Where have you been?”

”He was getting me,” said the Tooth-fairy from the door. ”But you seem to have managed without us.”

”They will be back,” Bunny put some candles down on the table. ”We gonna need your help soon enough.”

John hugged Sherlock closer. He was quite disturbed over how frightened Sherlock had been. Through all of this adventure nothing, except for maybe John’s safety, had caused Sherlock to react this poorly. The fever was clearly coming back. For a moment he hated Mycroft. The fear had been fueled by the Mare and the Fearlings, but it was still bad. He kissed the soft locks. 

”Don’t worry, Love,” he whispered. ”We’re going to make up a great explanation to feed him later. And then we are not going to let him into the house ever again.”

”Can’t keep him out,” sighed Sherlock in resignation. ”A sad fact, but still a fact.”

”We can at least try,” John leaned his head against Sherlock’s.

They sat quiet for a while. Bunny and North carried Mycroft and the agent out of the way to Sherlock’s room. Sandy patted the agent’s head to get rid of the nightmares, and the man smiled in his sleep. 

”Oh my!” breathed the Tooth-fairy.

The room was dark again. The candles and the fire made it look like a midnight electrical blackout. It felt somewhat safer though. The theory of the campfire seemed to be working. 

The shadows were still coming. Wherever the light wasn't reaching the darkness became denser and denser. John could feel it press against him like water steadily filling a balloon ready to burst, and it was moving into the light. The flames were getting smaller. He felt tinges of fear, but rose above them, hopefully sharing some of his bravery with the tall man in his arms. He knew it was not going to last. 

North, Bunny and Tooth-fairy were trying to push back the darkness with their bare hands. It looked exactly like they were trying to fight huge black water balloons. Except for the balloons had eyes, teeth and claws. Sandy was working on a golden light between his hands, it was actually quite effective but it would not last forever.

”Pitch!” John yelled. ”Do something!” 

”Leave me alone then!” yelled Pitch back. 

”No, you fucking bastard!” John pulled Sherlock closer like a security blanket. ”If you are gone there will be nothing that can stop them.” 

”And maybe that is for the best!” screamed Pitch, his eyes flaming red and his fingers like claws.

Jack made a small hiccup and seemed to pass out. His pale skin was almost as white as his hair. The shadows were awfully close to him. Baby-tooth gave a desperate squeak. The other guardians seemed to deplete somewhat as their group dwindled.

”Look what you are doing to him!” John tried desperately to find a way out of this. ”Don’t you care? He was the one that wanted to find you! Because he cared! He cares for you! He loves you!”

”I…” Pitch looked like he was going to cave in for a moment, but then his face became hard. ”You know nothing.”

John was about to make a few choice words containing several curses he had been taught in the army. He was interrupted by Sherlock pushing away from him and rising to his feet. 

”Sher…” 

But Sherlock didn’t seem to listen. Taking his burner, he moved straight through the shadows. The sturdiness in his steps helped by the work shop shoes must have given him enough confidence to get over to the sofa without being attacked. Sherlock grabbed hold of Pitch’s neck, forcing the spirit to rise to eye level. 

”You might want to die,” he spat in the gray face. ”But if you sacrifice those who care for you in the process then you don’t deserve death. And don’t you ever say that John doesn't understand, because he understands more of any us combined!”

Then Sherlock let go of Pitch, dropping the shocked spirit to the sofa. The next moment Sherlock had grabbed hold of Jack’s limp body.

”You say you don’t care?” Sherlock’s voice was dripping with distain. ”Well, don't care about this!” 

The room was completely silent as Sherlock threw Jack into the Shadows. The wall of darkness swallowed the cold body like it was a sea of tar.


	14. For the last time I follow you down, but only if you follow me up again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch faces his feelings. Sherlock takes the plunge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that they has taken some time. RL has been a bitch, I had a bad argument with my roommate, I hurt my foot quite painfully, and on top of that I had to rewrite this chapter three times.
> 
> Enjoy. Next chapter will be the last one. :)

The Tooth-fairy screamed and was about to jump in after Jack, but was held back by North. Sandy rushed forward to look through the Shadows with his built-in light but didn’t seem to find anything. 

”What did you do?” breathed Pitch.

”I gave you a choice,” said Sherlock confronting the King Of Nightmares And Darkness head on. ”What are you going to do about it?”

Bunny was staring at Sherlock, glanced to John who could only shake his head in astonishment, and then looked back at Sherlock.

”You are out of your bleeding mind.”

”That is something I never am.”

”You…!” Pitch’s voice drooled with mayhem and destruction, even John with his new leash on emotion could feel goosebumps going up his spine. ”You…” 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John was feeling a strange combination of gut-clenching worry and impossible pride. Every cell in his body called to him to rush forward and push Sherlock out of the way and take whatever strike Pitch was going to dish out on himself. But he stayed put because he trusted Sherlock, what else could he do?

Pitch seethed with anger.

”You better hurry,” said Sherlock, smoothly picking up Jack’s staff from the floor. ”He seems to have dropped something.”

There was a moment of indecisiveness and silence while Pitch looked between the staff and Sherlock. Sherlock smirked, the damn fool was really playing with death now and John had never found the man sexier. Wait, that was supposed to be a bad thing!

”You’ll get yours,” growled Pitch and then jumped into the darkness without any more hesitation. 

”I surely hope so,” said Sherlock, gently placing the staff on the couch. 

”Sherlock, you arse,” breathed John getting up from his perch by the fireplace.

”What?” Sherlock looked totally innocent, damn he was a good actor. ”I brought two will-be lovers together. How does that make me an arse?”

”You are playing a dangerous game, mate,” Bunny shook his head, making his large ears flip to the side. ”Wait, I can hear something…”

It felt like the darkness was breathing. Inflating and exhaling like it was building up to something horrible. John noticed that the Tooth-fairy moved slightly closer to North. 

”Sherlock,” John hurried across the room to his friend. ”I think it’s better if we stay close just in case.”

Sherlock gave him an odd look but did placed a hand on John’s shoulder and pulled him closer up against his body. John’s head heated under Sherlock’s chin. It felt a bit strange but very comforting. Not that John felt that he needed comfort, but it felt nice none the less to be held like this. Maybe he could admit to himself that it was because it was Sherlock holding him. 

He looked over at the four guardians. They had all moved closer to each other with little Baby-tooth curled up between the Tooth-fairy’s cupped hands. 

”Stay strong,” North gave John a smile when he noticed him looking. ”Keep your faith. Concentrate on your center. Continue to fight the Shadows.”

John could feel Sherlock nod above him. 

”Stay focused, John,” his friend whispered him his hair. ”I have no doubt that the Nightmare King can save Jack, but I don't think he’s strong enough to break out of that without our help.”

”Help?”

”Emotional support. They are spirits, they live on human emotion.”

”Right.”

”I don’t need your fucking help…” came a slow and creepy whisper from the surrounding darkness.

”We’re not doing this for you, ya two-bob drongo,” hissed Bunny taking hold of his guardian friends to gather their strength.

The words from the dark had moved like a chill over John’s spine. Sherlock trembled as well and John couldn't help but to put his arms around the taller man’s waist.

”Why did we never do this before I died?” Sherlock asked.

”You were never dead you damn bastard,” John sighed into the chest his face was pressed against. ”But I know what you mean.”

He would had said more but the air in the room suddenly got really cold and really stifling. It was a really strange feeling because it was usually hot air that filled the lungs like it wanted to wring them out dry.

The darkness breathed hard again, a really, really deep breath. The unexpected exhale blew out all of the candles and flames in the room, even the fire in the fireplace. John held his breath, hugging Sherlock closer instinctively. 

John could feel Sherlock move to quickly turn off the gas feed in the burner. It seemed the genius still had his wits about him, it was a comforting thought. 

Then the bubble of tightly wound darkness exploded with a scream. The shadows flew against the walls and the furniture, covering them, and then melting down to the floor like sticky slime were it dissolved like vapor. The next moment the slightly orange electric London evening light was coming in through the windows. 

Some warmth came back to the room. The fireplace came back alive but all the other flames were permanently out.

In the middle of the room, tall and dark, stood Pitch. Jack was spread out in his arms, seemingly still unconscious. Pitch growled, sounding something like an angry tiger, his fiery eyes searching the room for something. 

”There,” Sherlock pointed with the blown-out burner to a dark area near the kitchen. 

Pitch growled again, focusing on the darkness. The Shadow looked like it was cast by a flickering light even though there was no obvious light source. John suddenly realized that it was trembling.

”I’m taking back control.” Pitch brought Jack closer to his chest. ”Did you really think you could beat me? I’m the Ruler of Shadows, The Nightmare King, you do what I tell you. Release them and get out of here before I obliterate you!”

For a moment John didn’t understand what the dark spirit meant, but then, slowly, the trembling darkness emitted the two leopard-like Fearlings and the Mare into the room before flickering out completely. 

Pitch walked over to the sofa to lay Jack down. John pulled Sherlock out of the way because Pitch was giving the man a hateful glare. Sherlock wasn't easy to move since he had suddenly gotten back his imperviousness to threatening looks, but John still managed to steer him two steps closer to the armrest. 

”I know what you tried to do,” said Pitch, not looking away from Jack but directing his words to Sherlock. ”Nevertheless, I’m not forgiving you just because it worked.”

”Nevertheless,” smirked Sherlock, ignoring John’s elbow jutting into his side. ”It worked.”

The other guardians were gathering closer to the sofa. Sandy reached out a small hand to feel the frost spirit’s forehead. He shook his head, Jack wasn't sleeping which meant he was in some kind of a coma. On the other hand, Jack wouldn't have any nightmares from the shadows, which was probably good since Mycroft’s agent had seemed to have been quite desperate during his dust with them. 

”What are we going to do?” asked Bunny poking Jack’s limp hand. 

”We wait,” said Pitch still not moving from Jack’s side. ”He should wake by himself…”

John shifted slightly against Sherlock. He felt a little helpless being a doctor and not able to help their obviously injured client on their sofa. He looked at Sandy again, who was sprinkling fists of golden sand at Jack, but it didn’t seem to work. Jack wouldn’t drift from unconsciousness to sleep.

”Can we take him to the Workshop?” he asked. ”Or at least someplace cold with ice and snow. Maybe he’ll recover better then.”

”No more globes,” North gave a sad smile. ”We have to travel back through tunnels.”

”Won’t that take time?”

”I can take him on my back and run,” suggested Bunny.

”Fools all of you!” Pitch rolled his burning eyes. ”We let the Shadows take us there.”

”What?” John frowned. 

Sandy made a little happy jump, nodded and clapped his hands, clearly approving of the dark spirit’s idea. North and the Tooth Fairy looked at him like he had lost his mind. Sherlock made a non-committed one-shouldered shrug, which John interpreted that the man was very interested in this new form of travel. He smiled to himself as he began learning Sherlock’s body-language again.

”Are you sure that’s safe, mate?” Bunny’s nose twitched. ”You only just regained control.”

”Show no fear,” grinned Pitch.

He gently lifted Jack from the couch and beckoned the Mare. She immediately walked up to him and let Jack’s body be draped over her back. Pitch then opened the door to the stairs, a shadow was cast on the wall behind it from the light of the fireplace.

”Coming?” 

”Ah,” Bunny hesitated. ”I think I’ll rather take my tunnels. It’s not you, it’s me, Mate. It’s a bit too soon…” 

”Me too,” the Tooth Fairy shifted, her tiny companion still in her hands. ”I can fly pretty fast in them. Bunny makes a good slipstream when he runs.”

Sandy rolled his golden eyes and jumped fearlessly on the back of one of the Fearlings and pointed onwards the shadow behind the door. The Fearling growled with an irritated cat sound, but let the spirit stay on. Sandy looked quite proud over this.

”How ’bout you?” Pitch grinned sharply, holding out his hand to Sherlock. ”Want to see what it’s like to be cast into darkness?” 

Sherlock was foolishly reaching for Pitch’s hand, John quickly intercepted by taking both of their stretched out hands in his own. Pitch’s palm was warm but not unpleasant.

”He has had enough of darkness already, thank you. I prefer to be the middleman for now.”

”I bet you do, human,” Pitch tightened his grip. 

”My hero,” said Sherlock mockingly. ”North?”

The big man looked conflicted, but then nodded and took Sherlock’s other hand. 

”I come with you, it is my workshop. Yeti can be scared and attack if I’m not there.” 

”Hurry up then,” huffed Pitch and pulled John with him into the shadow. 

The Shadow wasn’t happy to have them there. John immediately felt threatened, his ears popped, and his throat constricted. Sherlock’s hand was warm in his and he took strength from it. The feeling lingered inside him when they stepped out into the light again. 

”I’m never doing that again,” he shivered. ”They really hate you, don’t they?”

”Yes,” Pitch turned and glared at the shadow slipping away from the wall. ”They do, and I don’t think they are going to change anytime soon. They’ll rather kill me first.”

A gush of ice-cold wind greeted them and they shivered since they had left their coats behind. They had come out from a crook in the wall of the Workshop. A couple of yetis were running towards them, North held up his arm.

”I go talk to them,” he said. ”We set up room and food for you and ice cream for Jack.”

John watched the large man go and then glanced at Jack. The spirit had not moved from his slumped perch on the Mare’s back. Sandy was floating in the air next to him, though his golden wakeful eyes were on the lingering shadow on the Workshop wall. John turned back to Pitch.

”I felt their distaste for you,” John smiled sadly, steading his hold on Sherlock’s hand, it felt right to have it there. ”And still you went through it to get here anyway.”

”It was for Jack,” Pitch moved over the Mare and brought Jack down to his arms bridal-style. ”The cold will make him better. I realised something while I was searching for him in that darkness.” 

”That you wanted me dead?” Sherlock rubbed John’s arm with his free hand to bring some warmth in it, it was a sweet gesture. 

”Yes,” The Nightmare King hugged Jack. ”But also why I wanted him the first time around, before he turned me down.”

”Why?”

”Because we were both lonely,” Pitch lay Jack carefully down on the ground and started scooping fistfuls of snow over him. ”I was so alone. And then I found someone that matched me perfectly… I mean…” he laughed ”…what goes better together than cold and dark?”

”Heart and mind,” said Sherlock.

John swallowed thickly, meeting Sherlock’s eyes.

”I think we got that as well,” smiled Pitch unaware of the looks John and Sherlock were exchanging. ”He cares when I’m heartless, and I have logic when he has instincts.”

”Sounds familiar,” murmured John feeling Sherlock’s bare hand rising from his arm and placed on the side of his face, the palm was still warm from the rubbing earlier. 

”I really did miss you,” Sherlock leaned down.

The kiss was light and their lips were a bit numb from the cold, but it was one of the best kisses John had ever received. He blinked up at the taller man as they separated. He cleared his throat. 

”I never kissed a man before,” he confessed in a blur of sudden confusion and surprising surges of happiness. 

”Except for the times your classmates at med-school tried to joke around during mouth-to-mouth resuscitation practice,” Sherlock smoothed his thumb gently over the fine wrinkles by John’s eyes.

”You can probably choose more appropriate times to do your deductions,” John laughed. 

”If you are quite finished…” drooled Pitch from the ground. ”I could need some help here.”

He and Sandy had already buried Jack halfway in the snow. Though Pitch’s glare was quite reproachful, Sandy was all smiles. The golden spirit made some gestures between Pitch and Jack, flashing images over his head depicting lips, snowflakes and exclamation-points.

”Sandman suggests you kiss Jack to wake him up,” said Sherlock with a shrug. ”I don’t see why not. There are already far too many fairytale references for my liking around here anyway.”

”Well, you are certainly not Prince Charming,” John poked Sherlock’s side playfully. 

Pitch glared at them and then looked down on the snow-covered Jack on the ground. The frost spirit seemed to have regained some colour in his cheeks. Pitch turned his gaze up towards the sky where John noticed a crescent of the moon was showing on the clear evening sky. He had a strange feeling that it was looking down on them. 

”Bastard,” Pitch seemed to whisper at the moon before leaning down and placing his lips against Jack’s.


	15. Epilogue: Don’t you ever expect me to do that again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is in order and there is a party to go to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have felt like a bitch these last weeks for making you wait so long for this last chapter. I have one good excuse and two bad ones.   
> Good excuse: My mother fell and cracked a rib, and I have been helping her with some things around the house.   
> Bad excuse 1: I discovered 'RuPaul's Dragrace' and had to see every episode there was on Netflix.   
> Bad excuse 2: I have obsessively been knitting the Avengers and Loki as dolls, and I'm happy to say that only Thor is naked at the moment. To see them you can visit my Tumblr artblog: naturegirlrocks.tumblr.com

_Christmas Eve_

”Have you got everything, Love?”

”Remind me why we have to do this?”

”Because when Santa Claus himself invites you to a Christmas party you damn well accept it.”

”He’s not going to be there,” Sherlock tinkered with his microscope. ”What kind of person throws a party and isn’t there?” 

”You?”

”I was here. I was the invisible man.”

”You are not invisible if you are hiding in your room at your own Halloween party,” John fondly shook his head. ”You totally missed Bunny flirting with Greg.”

”Gerald should get used to big hairy men, Mycroft has been giving him the eye.”

John laughed. Sherlock looked up at him and smiled. John really liked Sherlock’s smile, but it wasn’t getting the stubborn man off the hook. He smiled at the memory of that Halloween party, though. That had been the night when ’Sherlock’s room’ had become ’Their room’. John actually had Pitch to thank for that.

”Go get the presents before they arrive,” he said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, they had already been through the discussion of the ’futility’ of buying presents to people who gave away presents for a living. They had settled for some porcelain trinkets decorated with Union-flags that they bought in a London souvenir shop. It was kitsch, simple, and hopefully funny. None of the Guardians had their base in Britain anyway so it was kind of personal as well. 

John walked over to one of the windows and opened it up. The room filled up with cool air and snowflakes, though nothing out of the ordinary for this time of year. He pulled on his jacket and checked that his gift to Sherlock was still in the side compartment of his overnight-bag. He looked up when Sherlock entered from their bedroom with the plastic bag of presents. 

He was still using the shoes he got from North, because they were comfortable, not because they seemed to lead him into more trouble than necessary. At least that was what he told John, and he had a way to sound very believable, if it wasn't for John knowing that it was bullshit. Still, most of the times Sherlock got into trouble John was not far behind him on the exact same path. 

The curtains fluttered as a gust of wind entered the flat. The snow twirled in the air. Two bare feet touched down on the windowsill moments later. 

”Jack!” smiled John. ”You’re right on time.”

”Of course,” Jack laughed. ”I’m a very punctual person.”

”Yeah right,” a long arm shot out from the darkness beside the window here John had intentionally placed a bookshelf for just that purpose. ”He was creating a snowstorm in Vladivostok and wouldn’t have stopped if I hadn’t told him it was time to go.”

”You were having just as much fun as I was,” Jack took the stretched out hand and used it as support to elegantly get down to the floor, not that he needed any help. ”Hello Sherlock.” 

”Mr. Frost, Mr. Black,” Sherlock nodded in greeting. 

Pitch was holding on to Jack’s hand like a nineteenth century noble man presenting his fair lady to the royal court. John had seen the hold before and was as always touched by it. He would love to hold Sherlock’s hand that way for the world to see that they belonged together, if it wasn’t the most cheesiest thing ever. It worked for Pitch and Jack though. 

”We are traveling to the Workshop by the shadows,” Pitch used his free hand to gesture to the dark. 

”You have tamed it now?” John looked carefully to the living shadow on the wall.

In the weeks they had known each other Pitch had only visited Baker Street twice, both the times the shadows had all but spat him out like a foul taste. John had actually been quite relived to see the smooth exit this time. 

”They have… conceded,” Pitch smiled a sharp smile. 

”That is to say you forced them into obedience” said Sherlock pulling on his coat and scarf.

”What else?” 

”Come on,” Jack gave Pitch an indulgent look. ”Let’s get to the Workshop so I can do the decorations before the party. I’m planning on doing these awesome frost-spirals, and perhaps some giant snowflakes…”

”Save it for later, Popsicle,” Pitch kissed his hand. ”I believe the humans would rather see it than to hear you speak of it.”

”Personally…,” said Sherlock. ”…I enjoy a good description, but for John’s sake we better get a move on. He does so enjoy Jack’s creations.”

John just shook his head at this. He knew that Sherlock would enjoy Jack’s decorating as much as he. Maybe even more since they would be able to see the details of snowflakes without microscopes, or the fear of them melting.

”Take each other’s hands,” Pitch sighed. ”Sherlock, hold on to Jack.”

Sherlock hooked his arm around Jack’s; it was one of the safest ways to hold on to the spirit. Pitch didn’t like John touching Jack since John had danced with Jack at the Halloween party. Pitch had been very possessive of Jack afterwards, even if John immediately after had dragged a grumpy Sherlock out of the bedroom and danced the rest of the night with him instead. 

He smiled up at Sherlock as the taller man folded his fingers between his, entwining their hands together. This was one of John’s favorite handholds, and it wasn’t cheesy thank you very much. Sherlock, as usual, pretended like he didn’t know that. John took both of their overnight-bags in his other hand. 

As they entered the shadow John immediately felt the difference from his last journey to the North Pole. The darkness still hated them, that was for sure, but it was now subjugated. Pitch had definitely taken back his control over the dark element. John guessed that the time spent with Jack had given the Nightmare King his confidence back. He felt the press of Sherlock’s hand in his asking if he was fine and John squeezed back.

They arrived safely at the Workshop in the shadow of an enormous Christmas tree. Sherlock immediately let go of Jack but held on to John as they looked round the room. 

John had also initially thought it strange that North was throwing a party that he couldn’t attend. He had asked Sandy about this when the spirit delivered the invitation a few weeks back. Sandy had explained, through some interpretations made by Sherlock, that the party was not really a Christmas party per se, but a celebration for the yetis and all others helpers now that their hard work was now over. Yetis basically slept all the way through January and February and needed a big party to blow off some stream before going to bed.

The party lasted for days, and North always joined after his rest coming back from handing out presents across the world. 

John actually looked forward to the party and he hoped Sherlock would enjoy it too. After all, Sherlock and Mycroft had put their funds together and sent their parents off for a cruise to Norway this Christmas, so he ought to be in a good mood. 

Seven huge trees were spread out the large room and being decorated by yetis. There were also elves running around everyone’s feet, but they seemed more occupied with decorating themselves and stealing cookies. Even more yetis were putting up tinsel and pretty baubles in every nook and cranny possible. Jack had already joined them and was creating beautiful ornaments of ice with his bare hands.

Pitch looked like he wanted to strangle the lot of them, but he had a soft eye for Jack.

”Sherlock!” Bunny hopped up from behind some large branches and grabbed Sherlock in a tight hug around the waist. ”Come here yer bloody big screamer!” 

”Excuse me?” John coughed as he felt his face grow hot.

”Don’t worry, mate,” Bunny laughed. ”I’m not listening outside yer bedroom. But I really do like the implication that you’re making there.”

Sherlock gave an indignant huff. John sighed and kneaded the bridge of his nose.

”Can you let go of him now, please?”

”Sure thing mate,” Bunny stepped away from Sherlock. ”You want some eggnog? Made it myself.”

”Did you lay the eggs yourself as well?” drawled Pitch walking through the room as if he was looking for non-existent dust and finding a lot of it.

Bunny ignored the comment and served John and Sherlock each a jug of hot eggnog. It was rich, creamy, and tasted of fine whisky. John licked his lips in appreciation after tasting. Sherlock was walking around the room, calmly sipping on his jug and examining the movements of the yeti.

”I thought you weren’t big on Christmas,” John asked Bunny. 

”I’m not,” Bunny shook his head so his big ears flapped around. ”But I’m all for a great blowout. Also I love making decorations in every way. Look what I brought!” 

He showed John some blown-out eggs that were painted and sequenced in amazing winter and Christmas patterns. He held a red and silver one carefully as he examined it. The thought that Bunny could make them with those big hairy paws of his was mind-boggling. 

”These are the ones I used for the eggnog,” said Bunny proudly. ”Waste not, want not, ya know.” 

”Oh, how pretty!” a female voice called out from the big entrance. 

There was a huge flutter of bird-wings filling the room as a flock of blue and multi-coloured feathers circulated the room in a blob sounding like a hoard of awed teenage girls. The baby-teeth were in the house.

The Toothfairy fluttered up to John and kissed both his cheeks in greeting. Her lips were soft and she smelled of… mint-toothpaste. He hugged her, mindful that her wings didn’t hit his jug and spill it. 

”You look nice,” said Tooth, squeezing his arm. ”Married life does you good.”

”W-we are not married,” John glanced over at Sherlock who was trying to talk a yeti twice his size into giving him a skin-sample. 

”Just because you aren’t, doesn’t mean you are not living it,” she said wisely. 

”Uh-hu” said a baby-tooth in the air next to them in the tone of a big black woman with attitude, if the big black woman with attitude had been sped up to double the speed and turned into a tiny hummingbird. 

John blushed. He knew what Tooth was talking about. He and Sherlock was having their second month anniversary at New Year’s Eve. He already had the evening planned out and was hoping that Sherlock wasn’t on to him because it was going to be a great night. He smiled at the thought.

Bunny had served Tooth a jug of eggnog, she was smiling at the taste. The baby-teeth had a punchbowl of eggnog of their own to sip out of. They seemed very happy at this. John frowned. 

”Don’t worry, mate,” laughed Bunny, patting John on the back. ”They are not real birds and the eggs are not real eggs.”

”Oh-kay,” John looked at his jug but decided it tasted too good to bother. 

Sherlock came up to them, hooking his arm with John’s. He looked disappointed so he had probably bombed out with the skin-sample. He gave Tooth a polite smile and turned to look at the painted eggs with new interest. 

Pitch dipped a small cup in the baby-teeth’s punchbowl and seductively licked to outside of the cup not to make a mess. John was again reminded of Pitch’s likeness to Sherlock and had to look away. Sherlock had noticed him looking though and gave him an amused look. 

Something bumped into John’s leg. It was Dingle the lovesick elf. He was wearing a pink top-hood that covered his entire body with a small cluster of jingle-bells on the top. The little thing gave John a bucktoothed smile and then walked over to Bunny to rub his chin against the fur on Bunny’s knee. 

”You little lollie dill,” sighed Bunny and lifted Dingle to sit on his shoulder. ”I can’t get rid of you can I?”

Dingle shook his head and leaned against Bunny. John thought it was kind of cute in a miniature stalker kind of way. 

”He’s obsessed with you,” said Sherlock in a bored tone. ”Better be careful.”

”Really?” Bunny turned to look at Dingle, their noses bopped as they stared at each other. ”How so?”

”You can get obsessed right back,” Sherlock took John’s arm. ”Come, John. You are a doctor, convince that yeti I need a skin-sample for science.”

”Sherlock, we are at a party! One does not go around asking for skin-samples at parties.”

”Not at boring parties,” sulked Sherlock. 

John was saved from commenting on that by the arrival of Sandy. The golden spirit had a thing for talking to Sherlock in pictogram riddles. Sherlock had asked to experiment on the dreamsand, but after a nap lasting for over two days he had given up on the endeavor. Those two days had been quite relaxing for John though he had missed their conversations. 

He gave a small smile as Sherlock sat down with Sandy beside a large tree now decorated with sparkling stars of ice. John turned to stand eye to pointy chin with Pitch. He took a step back and looked up to meet the spirit’s golden eyes. 

”Do you want to see a trick?” smiled Pitch, he had a smiling Jack beside him and under his arm. 

”Sure,” John shifted. 

Bunny and Tooth looked interested as well and came closer. Pitch grinned even more. He placed his right palm against Jack’s left. Their hands folded slowly so that only their fingertips met. A blue light, like a miniature star, shaped between their hands, surrounded by the bars of their fingers. Then the light was surrounded by shadows and snuffed out. 

When they pulled their fingers apart there was the most beautiful black ice star in Jack’s hand. It was delicate and looked like it had been carved from a black jewel, maybe onyx. 

”Shall we put it in the tree?” Pitch gave a sly smile. 

”Blimey,” said Bunny. ”Not bad.”

”Thank you.” 

Pitch looked appreciating at Jack’s back as the younger spirit hurried off to put the new ornament on the closest tree. Several of the yetis came forward to admire the star, huffing in approval. Sherlock and Sandy also joined in to have a look. Sherlock’s fingers twitched with restraint from puling it down and examine it from every angle. 

”It’s indeed pretty,” smirked John, turning back to Pitch. ”And quite intimate as well.”

”Intimacy is one of the main ingredients,” Pitch held out his arm as Jack returned to him. ”It’s an honor to have someone find you to share it with.”

The phrasing of the words threw John for a moment but he knew what Pitch meant. Sherlock walked up to them and took John’s hand in a natural gesture, not at all bothered by the dozen or so enamored babyteeth fluttering about him. 

”A great display of cold and dark,” he said. ”Though fused by the warmth and light between you.”

”You are a good observer,” said Pitch, pulling Jack closer. ”I might have more use of you in the future.”

”I will await it,” Sherlock inclined his head. 

The two tall men looked at each other for several moments until Bunny couldn’t stand it no longer and cleared his throat. 

”Is this a party or what?” he exclaimed and turned so suddenly that Dingle had to hold on for dear life. ”Where is the bloody music? Where is the food, candy, and bloody drinks? Get on with it you lazy wallabies!” 

The yetis gruffed at him but seemed happy to oblige. Upbeat Christmas music stared to play from somewhere above them. Lights of all possible colours were turned on, burning like real fames. A huge table of delights and confections was unveiled next to a nearby wall. Then three large yetis in red bow-ties placed themselves behind a bar that seemed to had appeared from nowhere. 

In only a few seconds it was a real party. The elves were already dancing offbeat to the music in the middle of the room. Bunny just shrugged and grabbed hold of Dingle, spinning the smaller creature like an airplane-ragdoll around the floor. Dingle’s squeaks were mixed with laughter and giggles. 

Sandy invited the Tooth-fairy to dance with him up in the air. Soon a second level of the dance floor was created when they were joined by baby-teeth carrying and throwing squealing elves between them, and Jack sweeping Pitch up from the floor by his arms. The dark spirit tried to look affronted but still closed his arms tenderly around Jack.

John laughed and turned to Sherlock. 

”Do you want to dance?”

”No,” Sherlock leaned down to kiss John’s lips. ”I’d rather go unwrap your bag so I can get my present.”

”You already know what it is, don’t you?” sighed John.

”Of course,” Sherlock smirked. ”Sorry about ruining your surprise, but I will pay you back in full when we get to our room. Love.”

John rolled his eyes, laughed, and stepped closer. 

”This party will last for days. Do you think they will miss us if we go now and come back later?”

”I think they can forgive us,” Sherlock smiled pulled him towards the tree where their bags were hidden. 

 

THE END


End file.
